Fullmetal After
by whaddevah
Summary: Follow brothers Edward and Alphonse Elric after they leave their home world for our world - a world poised on the edge of a global war, one they are trying to prevent by tracking down a dangerous weapon that was brought over from their world into ours: the uranium bomb. How will they find it? Who will they meet along the way? What adventures await? FIND OUT IN FULLMETAL AFTER
1. The Gypsy Band

Edward quickly covers the shining of his metal arm before anyone should see.

"Come on, Brother!" Al says as he tugs Ed's coat sleeve.

"All right, quit pulling!" Ed says back to his little brother as they both get up out of the grassy ditch they are sitting in. They grab their suitcases and jog up the small hill to the roadside.

There stands Noa, their gypsy friend. Her skin is dark, her hair is dark, her eyes are dark. But her clothes are bright – white and pink and red. Such a beautiful contrast. She is beautiful.

"Come on, Edward," Noa says to him. "These nice people are going to give us a ride."

Ed looks at the people in the truck – and is immediately struck by the looks of the driver and his companion. Al is confused as to why his brother looks so surprised – and then he looks. Both boys smile nervously.

The driver is the spitting image of Scar, their old enemy, and strangely friend – by his side, the spitting image of Lust, the monster and strangely friend. But both Ed and Al know that the people in this truck are not them. They only look like them.

Noa hops into the back of the truck with a bunch of other people traveling along, a mixture of men and women, some more German-looking, others more gypsy. She doesn't take notice of Ed and Al's funny looks as they still smile awkwardly at the driver. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

"Right," Edward says, quickly coming to the back of the truck. "Watch out, ladies!" he says as he tosses in his big suitcase, the young women giggling as the two young rogues climb in with them.

The truck takes off down the long country road, leaving Munich behind forever.

The year is 1923.

Al sits nervously on the truck bed bench, blushing for the handful of pretty girls around him.

Ed, sitting across from him, reaches over and nudges his brother, smugly smiling, "What's a-matter, Al? You act like you've never seen girls before."

Al spurted, "What? No! I mean, yes…"

The girls all giggle at the young boy's shyness. The men in the truck also chuckle, remember what it's like to be young.

Ed smiles as he lets his face take in the warmth of the sun. "Ah, such a kid, Al… by the way, why are you so short?" Within a split second, Ed thought to himself, _Wow, that sounds weird coming out of me…_

Al is quiet for a moment, making sure no one else is paying attention to the two of them. And then quietly he says, "While my body was inside the Gate, it didn't grow any. I was right back to being 11 years old."

"Add two years and that makes you 13," Ed smiles that toothy grin of his, "And I'm already 18." He chuckles as he rubs Al's hair. "That REALLY makes you my little brother now."

"Knock it off, Ed," Al brushes his brother's hand aside, not enjoying being petted like a dog.

They are both quiet for a moment, enjoying the fresh air as it blows past them, the smell of the grass and the open road filling their senses.

Al looks over at Edward. "So… where are we headed now, Brother?"

"First we have to track down that uranium bomb that was brought over from the other side," Edward tells him. Both boys knew that dangerous things came from the other side of the Gate, and this was certainly no exception. "A weapon like that shouldn't exist… no matter which world it's in."

Al nods, and looks out onto the road. Something catches his eye – a small propaganda poster, crushed under the tires of the truck and spit back out onto the road. Al gives a bit of a frown. "People say another great war is inevitable here. And from everything that's going on… maybe they're right…"

The wind blows the piece of trash away.

Al looks over to Ed, "Do you think we should get involved in their battles?"

"Like I said, Al – we can't keep thinking we're all that matters – that the world has nothing to do with us. That goes for both sides of the Gate. This is where we live. It's home now. And we have to do our part." He turns to Al with a confident smile, one that Al had seen many times before.

Al nods and gives a firm smile back, both boys ready to face the world.

Noa scoots a little closer to Ed, wanting to get in on their conversation. "You two are used to travelling a lot, right?"

Ed and Al look over at her as she speaks.

"I saw it in your memories. That you and he used to go from place to place all the time."

"Memories?" Al asks.

"Yeah," Ed explains. "That's her magic gypsy power. She can touch a person and learn a lot about them.

"Really?!" Al says excitedly. He sticks his hand out to Noa. "Do me!"

She chuckles, taking his hand. "All right." She closes her eyes for a minute. "…You're kind, very thoughtful… and your brother hates milk."

Ed bursts, standing as he shouts, "Of course I hate milk! Who would want to drink something that came from an animal's filthy tit?!"

The girls all start giggling.

"Brother! Sit down! You're embarrassing me!"

Ed sits down, grumbling, "Yeah, sorry Al."

Noa lets go of Al's hand, and brushes her hair aside for all the wind blowing by. "But I'm right, right? You two are practically gypsies like we are. You should have no problem adjusting to living with us."

Ed looks at her for a moment, and then closes his eyes, "I suppose. Only I'm not used to this many people."

Al smiles and pokes his brother in the cheek as he talks to Noa, "Yeah. Ed's kind of anti-social."

Ed snaps his jaw as if to bite Al, Al moving his finger back and laughing.

Noa smiles. "You two really are very close."

They look over at her as she talks.

"It's so sweet. I wish I had a sibling. Or at least someone I was close to."

Al smiles, "You've got us! Right, Brother?"

Ed looks to Al, then looks over to Noa. She smiles softly at him, the sunshine glowing off her hair. Ed can't help but smile back.

"Yeah. You've got us."

Noa nods. "I'm glad."

Later the truck stops by a river and everyone piles out.

Ed stretches his arms, "Oh, man! It feels good to stand on solid ground. It's nice to stretch the muscles."

"Hey Ed," Al asks, "Why is it you have automail still? I got all of MY body back. How come you don't have all of yours?"

Ed looks down at his right arm, his coat and gloves covering him. "I don't know. It's just one of those things, I guess." He looks over at Al. "And in this world, they don't have automail. I'd really stand out if people saw it."

"I must say," Noa interjects as she comes walking up with a small wicker basket, "This new arm of yours is even more amazing than the last one."

"Last one?" Al asks.

"Yeah. Dad was here in this world. He was able to make me fake limbs, though they were nowhere near as good as Winry's."

"Winry…" Noa says slowly. "…She was your childhood friend, wasn't she?"

Ed looks to her, watching Noa as she thinks aloud.

"I've seen her in your memories too. You liked her…"

Ed nervously rubs his head as he blushes, "Yeah, she was a friend, that's all…"

Noa smiles.

Al knocks on Ed's suitcase, "So is that what's in here? The limbs Dad made for you?"

Ed nods, "Yeah. These are just backups in case my automail ever breaks. But the best mechanic in Risembool knows what she's doing. And I doubt I'll be fighting any homunculi around here. The chances of it getting broken are slim." Ed moves his arm around a bit, rotating his shoulder. "But I've got to say, the skin covers are tight. Their meant for the ones he made, not the ones she made."

They hear a woman call to them, "Hey you all! We have food if you want it!"

" Oh boy!" Al says jogging over to them. "I'm starving!"

Ed smiles, shaking his head. "Jeez, such a kid."

The band of gypsies all sit around, eating the small bits of food they've all piled together for everyone. As he eats, Al can't help but stare at the driver, the tall and big man, with a very commanding air about him. His resemblance to Scar is just too chilling for him.

The man looks over at the young boy. "…Why do you keep staring at me like that?"

Al sits up straight, nervous and sweating as he waves his hands back and forth. "N-no reason! It's just that, y-you remind me of someone I used to know!"

"Oh?" His companion says as she sits by his side.

Ed decides to jump in on the conversation. "Yeah, but you're not them. What are your names?"

The man spoke, "I'm Serkan. And this is Lucine."

"Well I'm Ed."

"And I'm Al."

"Pleased to meet you," Lucine says, very soft-spoken.

"So, where you all from?" Edward asks.

"We're from Istanbul."

Ed gives a smarmy, half-amused grin. "Istanbul… you don't say…" the name sounding eerily like Ishbal.

Al can't contain his curiosity, "How long have you two known each other?"

Lucine and Serkan smile at each other, she petting his hand as she speaks, "Since we were children."

"But it feels much longer, doesn't it?" he says.

"Yes."

"As if we've known each other even before we were born."

Ed feels like laughing at the prospect, while Al's eyes are filled with stars. "How romantic!" Al spouts.

"Where you boys headed?" Lucine asks them.

"Nowhere," Ed says.

"Well you must be going somewhere," she says as she picks up her cup. "Your people aren't travelers like us."

Ed is a little offended, "What would you know about _our_ people?"

Serkan, with his deep voice and a bit of a grim frown, says, "What would you know about ours?"

Ed sighs in his throat, calming himself. "More than you'd know. Trust me. My brother and I haven't had a home since we were young children."

Lucine took a drink from her cup, "I'm so sorry to hear that. And you've been travelling by yourselves all this time?"

"Yeah."

Serkan broke his bread in half as he spoke, "The same goes for us. For the most part, it's just been me and Lucine ever since we left Istanbul."

Lucine smiles, "Until you got that truck, and then we made a lot of friends."

He sighs, grumbling, "Freeloaders is more like it."

She nudges him in the arm playfully, "Come on! We're gypsies! We're supposed to have a band!"

"We weren't born travelers, you know."

Al asked, "Then why are you travelers now?"

Serkan looks to the sky, watching a bird fly by as he remembers back, "I was fifteen when it started… The old empire was weak and falling apart. We owed a lot of money to other nations for the railroad that was built in our country. It brought with it money and progress… But progress means change… A lot of people didn't like our old imperial ways… There were revolutionaries who were determined to dethrone the sultan, which they did. The new rulers wanted everything to be Western, to be modern."

Lucine interjects, "They even gave women a lot more rights. It was about time."

Serkan shakes his head, annoyed, "They only reason we didn't give women more rights in the first place was because we knew they would flaunt them once they had them."

She smiles and gives him a nudge on the cheek.

He continues, "But then the war broke out. I was twenty-one then. Our country allied itself with yours, but we were overtaken by your enemies. Their soldiers occupied our homeland… and it's not ours anymore."

Lucine stares sadly into her cup, "That's when we decided to leave. There was no point in staying there anymore. Even if we had stayed in The City, it was not the same City anymore."

Ed gives his sympathies, "I'm sorry to hear that."

Serkan continues, "We'll always have Istanbul with us, even if we're not in Istanbul."

Ed has a bit of a sad smile, thinking back to the countryside of Risembool… it was the same for him… even though he wasn't there… it was there with him…

The sun had moved from its high point in the sky and was starting to descend. It's not as bright at this time in the afternoon, but it's certainly as hot. Noa stands by herself, alone in the woods at the edge of the river, staring silently out into the distance.

Ed quietly comes up behind her. "What are you doing out here, Noa?"

She is quiet. "…Oh Ed… Why do there have to be wars? …And I almost started another one… all because of my selfishness… I'm sorry… I'm sorry for what I did back there in Munich… I just-"

"We all are," Ed tells her, very plainly and calmly. "We're all sorry for what we did. We all had our own reasons, and we thought we were doing what was right."

Noa sighs, dissatisfied.

"Besides," Ed continues, "Things turned out for the better, didn't they?"

She looks up to him in surprise, he smiling a beautiful smile, his golden eyes staring back into hers. She could feel her cheeks warming with blush, and she shyly looks down at the ground, nodding. "Yes…"

"Come on," he says to her. "Everyone's waiting for us."

That evening, the band has built a campfire, big and tall, good enough for roasting food and warming their bones. The sun is just barely visible on the horizon now, and the sky is painted a beautiful orange and red, faint dots of light in the sky visible as the stars come awake.

Al comes running up to Ed, "Brother! Look what I caught!" He holds a dead rabbit in his hands.

Ed laughs, "Just like old times, hey Al?"

"Wow!" Al says, looking past Ed. Ed turns around to see Serkan has a big swan in his hands. "It's huge!"

"Found this down by the river," Serkan says. "Both of them should make a good meal."

Ed gives a grin, "Then let's eat up!"

The fires crackle and the people cackle, laughing and telling stories as they enjoy the open woods. Serkan is sitting on a log, playing a guitar, strumming a melody to the passing night sky.

One of the girls gets up, "Oh! Hand me my tambourine!"

Her friend pulls it out of a bag and tosses it to her, and she begins to beat it as she dances about.

Many of the girls get up and start to dance as well, humming a melody and singing aloud, grabbing their guy friends.

Al laughs and smiles at the spectacle, loving the swirling colors and dresses before him, the jingling of their jewelry, the twinkling of their bracelets and anklets and bells. One of the girls stops and winks at him, and Al hops to his feet with glee. She holds her hand out to him, and he takes it and they begin to dance, Al with no particular talent about him.

Ed, sitting on the ground, starts laughing, watching his little brother act so silly. And then Noa stands there, in front of him, she gently holding out her hand to him. Ed looks at it for a moment, and then looks to her soft and smiling face. "Oh, no! No! I can't dance!"

She grabs his hand, "It doesn't matter!" She lifts him up, Ed red with embarrassment. She giggles, "Move your feet!"

Ed looks down, watching his steps, making sure his big old boots aren't going to crush her toes or anything. But she lifts his chin up to look at her. With a smile, she twirls away from him, her dress a swirling cloud, moving and swaying with the rhythm of her body. Ed tries to loosen up, moving his shoulders a bit and smiling, while Al twirls in circles like a silly person.

And Noa shakes her way back up to Edward, taking him by the hand as they dance into the night.

The moon is high, the sky is black, the stars are twinkling bright. The fire has died down but is still alive, warming the gypsies in the night.

Serkan and Lucine sleep in a tent, while many others sleep in the bed of the truck or on the ground. Al is also asleep, but Ed and Noa are not to be found.

They sit alone, together, by the riverside, watching the waters slowly flow along. An insect briefly touches the surface, stirring the ripples of moonlight, taking them away into the darkness.

Ed smiles as he stares out onto this scene. "It's so nice out here… And nice to finally relax."

Noa smiles and nods. "…I want to thank you, Edward."

"For what?"

"For being my friend… I've always been so lost and alone… but… Even through all my faults… you're the only one who's been kind enough to forgive me…"

Ed smiles, "…Probably because I've made a lot of mistakes in my life… I know what it's like to need forgiveness…"

"Oh Ed," she lays her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes.

Ed, in the meanwhile, has stopped breathing momentarily. His eyes widen, his pupils constrict, and he looks both ways, afraid someone might see.

"Uh, Noa," he says, a little nervously, "You seem really tired. Maybe you should go to bed."

"Hmm?" she hums, and then softly she says, "No. I like it here…"

"Oh…" And Ed looks out to the river…

Later that night, while everyone is dead asleep, Edward nudges his brother. "Al," he whispers. "Al, wake up."

"Huh?" Alphonse stirs awake, rubbing his eyes. "What is it?"

"Come on, Al. It's time to go."

"Go? But why?" Al asks, confused and distraught.

"Because. It just is. Now let's go." Ed turns around, carrying his suitcase with him.

Quickly and quietly, Al grabs his things and starts to follow Edward. But then he stops for a moment, looking back at Noa, she sleeping peacefully in the grass… and then he turns and follows Ed off into the night…

**To Be Continued**


	2. Ingolstadt

The morning air is cool and the sky so richly blue. Ed and Al are walking along the side of the country road, the hills and trees stretching out around them – when from behind, they hear a truck. Ed is nervous at first, but realizes it is no one he knows. He sticks out a thumb, and the truck slows down.

"Hey there!" Ed says to the driver with a grin. "Wouldn't mind taking a couple of hitch-hikers to the next town, would ya?"

"No problem!" The driver says. "If you don't mind riding in hay! Just hop on in the back!"

Al gives a nod, "Thank you, sir."

"Yeah, thanks, mister!" Ed says and he and Al climb aboard.

The little truck chugs along, spurting out little spurts of black smoke every now and again. Al sighs and rubs his tummy. "Oh… I'm hungry, Brother. We should have taken some food with us."

"It wasn't ours to take…" Ed says as he looks to the side, elbow on knee as he thinks.

Al is quiet for a moment. "…Why did we leave, Ed?"

…Ed does not answer him. And then Ed closes his eyes. "…I didn't want Noa getting dragged into this whole uranium bomb business. She has enough troubles as it is."

The truck bumps along, the sound of gravel crunching under the tires as they move along the road.

"But you know, Ed," Al says to him, "…Noa seemed really happy to have you around."

Edward ignores his brother.

The little truck chugs along, and finally a town comes into sight - brick and cobblestone as far as the eye can see, and a lovely large clock tower greeting the morning sky. The truck finally comes to rest in front of a general store, the engine dying down, but with the slightest hum still audible, some clinking and clanking arising from the hood. Ed hops out of the back of the truck, pulling his suitcase with him.

The driver gets out of the truck, whipping his door closed behind him with a hearty grin as he puts a cigar in his mouth. "Welcome to Ingolstadt, boys! Ever been here before?"

"No sir," Al responds.

The man, playing with his trouser suspenders, looks as though he's proud to give them the shorthand tour - obviously an old man who loves telling stories. "Yep, Ingolstadt - birthplace of mad scientists."

"Huh?" Ed asks.

"Yep. This is where the Illuminati got started, and where they say Dr. Frankenstein brought his monster to life!"

"Frankenstein?" Al asks.

The man continues, "Don't tell me you've never read Frankenstein! That there's a good book right there. A mad genius of a scientist brings a dead man back to life, but it goes mad and starts killing people." The man shivers, "Chilling! But good!"

Edward hums lowly to himself, grimly, "Bringing the dead back to life... I know that story..."

Alphonse asks of the man, "What's the Illuminati?"

"Also a bunch of mad scientists," he says. "I don't know a too whole lot about them, but they had a bad reputation for being evil-doers or something or other like that. I really don't care, but it's fun to tell stories." He leans over, winking as he brashly nudges Ed in the arm. "Works great for keeping the kids in line! Ha! Just threaten them that some Illuminati ghost will whisk them away in the night and do evil experiments on them! Haw-haw-haw!"

"Yeah..." Ed says. "Well thanks for the ride," he says to him as he and Al begin to walk away.

The driver waves to them, "You all be safe now! Don't go wandering down strange alleys!"

Al scurries up to his brother, suitcase in hand. "You don't think anything he said is true, do you Ed?"

Ed says, "If we were in Central, yeah, I might believe him. But so far, I haven't seen anything obscenely bizarre out of this world. Sometimes I think to myself that this place makes more sense. But then I look around me and I see the exact same mistakes being made – only by different means…"

Al sighs to himself. Why must his brother always be so cynical? He changes the subject – "So, what do we do now?"

"Well for now we need to find a place to stay for the night. There's no way we can go sniffing around for a bomb if we're not prepared."

"But where will we stay. And where will we even begin to LOOK for a bomb?"

"If we're going to find that uranium bomb, we've got to start investigating – talk to anybody who might know about something like that."

"Like who?"

"Well, the military for one; but I doubt they would tell civilians like us anything. And I'm not too crazy about joining the military all over again."

"What about a university?"

"Hey, you're right. Universities here do a lot of research for the government. If we can snoop around their chemistry departments, we might be able to dig something up. But where to find a university at this hour…"

Al rubs his stomach with a little sigh, "Oh, I'm still hungry. We haven't eat since last night and we have no food."

"Well then let's just get something to eat then," Ed says.

Al looks over at his brother, "With what money?"

With a sly smile, Ed pulls a small change purse out of his pocket. "Gracia gave this to me before we left Munich – sort of a parting gift."

"Really!?" Al's eyes light up. "That's great! Thank you, Gracia!"

"Come on, knucklehead, let's go get something." And the two boys trot off through the streets of town.

They find a nice tavern, somewhat big, actually. A nice big deer head rests over the large fireplace at the end of the hall, while burly working men sit at the bar drinking their 'still. A waiter bustles about bringing out food and grog for the lot of them, meat and potatoes all around. The smell of fresh beer lingers in the air, complemented by the smell of tangy sauerkraut and plump juicy sausage.

Al sits down, so happy. "Oh, it all smells so good!"

Ed pulls out his chair and takes a seat. "Yeah. I like those little white sausages the best. Oh, but don't touch the shredded cabbage. Boy does it taste rotten!"

"Is that the vinegary smell?"

"Yeah, that's it all right. WAY too much vinegar in that stuff." Ed looks around at his surrounding, noticing a set of stairs. "Huh. I wonder if there's an inn up top. We might consider staying here…"

"Yeah!" A random shouting comes from the corner of the tavern. Ed looks over there to see a small group of men are gathered there, probably playing a drinking game of some kind he assumes.

Al picks up a menu off the table. "I wonder what they have here…" And then suddenly his face turns blue with horror. "Oh my gosh! Brother! Look at these prices! We can't afford this!"

"Calm down, Al. Don't let the prices fool you. They may look like a lot of numbers, but they're pretty empty." Ed, sitting somewhat sideways in his chair, gently tosses the menu he has onto the table. "Dad was surprised by them too."

Al is quiet, and sort of twiddles his thumb on the menu as he thinks. Then he asks, "…What happened to Dad? Why isn't he here now?"

Ed, quietly, is looking down at the table, stoically. He, with his elbow on the table, fiddles with the menu in front of him with his thumb, it opening and closing rhythmically like a clock with a tick-tock. "…In order to open the Gate… the Thule Society needed a dragon… and the blood of an someone who came from the other side… On this side, Envy came out as a dragon… And Dad…"

Al wasn't sure if he wanted to hear the rest – not because he was afraid of what was going to be said, but because he was going to have to make his brother say it.

"…He said he wanted to atone for his sins… And he let Envy bite him in half…"

Al looks down at the table, quietly sad. "…Why couldn't he ever just stay with us? Why does he always have to be someplace else?"

Ed sighs through his nose. "I dunno…"

A waiter comes by and the boys order their meals, the silence between them a little awkward. The food comes, the waiter goes, and as Ed eats, Al can't help but to stare at his food as he thinks.

"But why a dragon?" Al asks. "So far as I've seen, people on this side of the Gate look the same. Just like Gracia and Mr. Hughes."

"Yeah I know," Ed says, sitting forward and resting his arms on the tabletop. "Perhaps that was Envy's truest form? And even then, though people look the same on this side, they certainly don't act the same. Sure, Gracia was still a very nice person, but Hughes – he's so grumpy and cold. He's nothing like the Hughes we knew."

"I know," Al agrees. "I didn't get to talk with him very long after we closed the Gate, but I didn't get a very good feeling from him." Al looks at Ed, "But why so different? Why wouldn't they be the same no matter what side?"

"Different world, different experiences. Maybe this Hughes didn't have a very happy childhood or something. Or maybe he had wanted to be in the military and all he could make it as was a local cop. I've noticed the people here have a mean-streak for revenge when they feel they've been gypped somehow."

"Like how?"

"Well like this inflation and all the money being worthless. It's only because they lost some war and now have to pick up everybody else's slack. They feel gypped and since they can't take it out on the countries who wronged them, they're taking it out on the people they don't like within the country."

Al nodded, solemnly. "Like Noa."

"That's right. Because she's different and they can." Ed tosses a bit of sausage in his mouth grumpily. "Yeah, big bunch of men they are, picking on a helpless girl like that…"

"If you care about her, then why didn't you stay to protect her? She might need you."

Ed waves him off, "Nah, that's all right. She's got plenty of people now, including Scar mind you."

"He's not Scar, Ed – his name is Serkan."

Again, Ed waves him off, kicking back and putting his feet on the table, nonchalantly. "Yeah, but you know who I mean. And trust me, if anybody tries to mess with him, I'm sure he'll just smash his guitar over their heads."

Al stands, a little agitated. "But you said so yourself, Ed – different world, different experiences. This Scar never fought in any wars. He seems much more peace-loving; I doubt he'll be one to fight anybody."

Ed changes the subject – "The point is you and I are pretty different in our own way. We could easily become a target of this stupid Worker's Party."

"Worker's Party?" Al asks, calmly sitting back down. "What's that?"

"The result of the war. A bunch of angry men who feel as though they've been gypped and want to get even with someone somehow. They feel it's the government's fault they lost the war, and so they want to rule the country. Sure, it's fine for people to fight for their rights, but it's unnerving to me how they do it in such big groups. It feels more like a mob and less like a political party."

"I thought political parties were mobs," Al says with a smile.

Ed just gives a half a grin and flicks a little chunk of potato at his kid brother.

Al finally starts eating off his plate, and then notices a little mound of limp white something-rather. He picks it up with his fork. "What is this?"

Ed points at it with his fork, "THAT is the nasty shredded cabbage I was telling you about."

Al gives it a sniff. "Whoo! Very vinegary!"

"I know!"

Al looks it over for a moment, twirling it around his fork. Then slightly, just ever so slightly, he brings it nears his mouth.

"Oh, Al, no!" Ed says.

And then Al shoves the sauerkraut in his mouth and chomps into it. Immediately his face scrunches together, the 'sour' part of sauerkraut living up to its name. Ed laughs at the funny face his brother makes. Al swallows it, and then opens his eyes. "Mmm! Yummy!"

"Really? Ew!" Ed says, still laughing a bit.

"You should try some Ed."

"No way!"

"Come on!" Al urges with a smile, Ed fighting the whole time. Al leans over the table with sauerkraut on his fork, trying to force-feed Edward, both laughing like silly people. Al finally manages to sneak a bit of it into his brother's mouth, and reluctantly Ed swallows.

"Hmm," he says surprised. "You know, that's actually not bad. I guess that Alfons just wasn't good at making sauerkraut."

"Me?" Al asks, and Ed realizes what he's said.

"Oh. Not you – Heidrich…" he says a bit sadly, thinking back to his not-so-long-ago friend.

Al looks to his brother. "…What was he like?"

"You would have liked him, Al. He would have been like a second brother to you." Ed gives a bit of a grin. "Even though we were about the same age, he was like a big brother to me. Now I see why you like having a big brother so much."

Al nods and smiles. But both of their attentions are drawn away from their conversation by noise coming from the back corner of the tavern.

A group of men stand around as another man stands on top of an old crate, shouting to them.

"Are we gonna stand for it anymore?!"

"No!" They say in unison.

"Are we just going to let all these immigrants, these filthy animals, take our country away from us?!"

"No!"

"And what are we gonna do about it?!"

A myriad of answers arises – "Kick 'em out!" "Kill 'em!" "Hang 'em!" "Put 'em jail!"

"And why aren't we doing that right now?!"

The small crowd cheers.

"Don't celebrate!" Their leader scorns them. "Because you AREN'T doing anything about it, ARE ya?! You CAN'T do anything about it, CAN you?! It's because the GOVERNMENT won't LET you!"

"Booooo!"

Al looks back to Ed. "What's going on over there?"

Ed just sighs angrily, mixing his potatoes with his fork. "THAT would be that Worker's Party I was telling you about – a bunch of drunk guys listening to an idiot on a soapbox."

The idiot leader continued: "We're the better nation!"

"Yeah!"

"We're the better people!"

"Yeah!"

"And our lack of action is just destroying our own country!"

"YEAH!"

"So why don't we rattle the steel cages of the government and make them do their damn jobs?!"

"YEAH!"

"HEY!" Ed shouts. The crowd parts so that the leader can see him, all heads turning towards Ed. "Can you keep it down? I'm trying to eat my dinner and you're disturbing me."

The leader on his crate shakes a threatening fist. "Why don't you just mind your own business and stay out of it, shorty?!"

There is a passing moment. And then Ed stands, very silently, his fist trembling at his side.

A drop a sweat rolls down Al's face. "Um… Ed?"

Suddenly Ed bursts aloud, teeth sharp and veins popping from his forehead. He goes running straight for the man, screaming at the top of his lungs, "WHO YOU CALLING SHORTY?! I'LL BITE OFF YOUR FACE AND THROW IT BACK UP AND STICK IT ON YOUR BUTT!"

The men in the crowd intercept, stepping in front of Ed, grabbing his arms and legs – but with very little effort, Edward throws them off, running straight for their leader and punching him square in the jaw, with his metal fist no less!

The man falls off his podium and ingloriously lands on the bar, shattering glasses and scaring people.

One of the followers throws a beer bottle at Ed's head, but he ducks, tackling his attacker. The stray bottle hits an innocent bystander in the face, his friend getting riled. "Hey!" He jumps into the fight, going after the man that Ed has down on the floor.

But one of the Party members goes after that guy! And then another guy jumps in! And another! Until finally the whole tavern has gone insane!

Al covers his head as a chair flies over his head. "Ed!"

Ed looks over, getting ready to run to his brother, but an angry tavern patron comes running at him with a bar stool. Ed trips him, pushing him in the back and sending him straight to the floor. One guy however does manage to hit him in the metal shoulder with a beer stein, sending a shivering down Ed's nerves. He turns around, fist held high in the air, prepared to punch-

SNAP!

Ed looks at his wrist in surprise to see a handcuff on him! And a couple of officers standing right behind him!

Ed and Al sit quietly by themselves in a jail cell, Ed grumpy and Al sort of anxious. Ed sighs. "You don't have to be in here with me you know."

Al just gives a big smile, "Sure I do! I punched one of the cops who was trying to arrest you!"

Ed gives an angry sigh, "Great."

"Well, look on the bright side," Al says to his brother. "At least we have a place to stay for the night."

Ed almost laughs, but instead turns to his brother, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you planned this."

"At least as far as punching the cop goes…"

Ed just chuckles in his chest and turns away to lie down. "Good night, Al."

Al smiles, watching his brother rest. He looks away, out through the small grate window, out to the dark skies… Quietly, he says to the bright stars, "Good night, Mom. Good night, Dad…" And he lies down.

To Be Continued


	3. To the Univesity!

The heat and hum from the idling bus mixes with the smell of exhaust as men load luggage into the vehicle. Ed and Al hand the driver their tickets as they board and they each take a seat. Ed looks out the window as the bus revs up and the town of Ingolstadt shrinks from sight.

Al stretches his arms and attempts to rest. "Sleeping on a jail bench isn't much fun."

"Yeah," Ed agrees. "At least they only kept us overnight. I was sure they were gonna keep us in there for life after you punched that cop."

Al laughs, "Yeah, that was sort of spur-of-the-moment. But that's only because you caused such a ruckus."

Ed shrugs, "Oh well."

Al sit up a bit. "So where do we go now, Brother?"

"I hear there's a university at the end of this line," Edward tells him. "If anyone would know anything about uranium, it'd be a chemistry department at a university. They do the majority of research. The government just sort of bums off of them."

"Didn't, um," Al thinks for a moment, "The man you said looked liked Fuhrer Bradley - didn't you say he showed you a picture of the bomb? Didn't he say where he got it?"

"Oh, you mean Fritz Lang," Ed says, confirming this world's version of their once-great leader. "I don't know. Maybe he did say where he got it. But I was so shocked when I saw it, I don't think I was listening..."

"When we get to a phone, don't you think we can call him?"

Ed shrugs again, putting his arms behind his head and closing his eyes to rest. "Worth a try, I suppose; if he hasn't fled the country already. He's not too akin to these crazy Worker's Party people. That and he says there are more jobs in America for filmmakers."

"America?" Al asks, leaning forward a little. "What's that?"

Ed opens one eye, and then sits up. "Oh yeah. I forget that you're not familiar with the geography of this place. It's a country way across the sea from here. It's real popular for whatever reason. A lot of people move there because they say it's a land of opportunity and freedom." Ed leans back again. "All I can say is the grass is always greener..."

Al rubs his tummy and sighs. "I'm so hungry. At least the police could have given us some breakfast this morning."

Ed scoffs. "The policemen can't even feed themselves. Why would they feed us?"

Al sits back in his chair, a little grumpy from fatigue. He sighs and looks to his brother. "Did Dad say why it is that everyone's so poor?"

"Yeah. It's 'cause they lost the war. That was actually pretty good for me and him. We were living in a country called England before this, though I hear they're in just as bad of shape as Germany is. But then he and I came here, following scientific minds. Should've just stayed in England if I'd known it'd be this much trouble."

But Al smiles. "Things happen for a reason, Brother. If you'd never come here, I'd still be on the other side of the Gate."

Ed looks over at his brother and gives half a smile, "Yeah..." then he looks out the window, a bit of sadness on his face as he wonders...

Al is looking out the front of the bus though. "I'm glad we took a bus. I'm tired of walking. I just wish we'd have had enough for a train."

Ed reaches in his pocket, pulling a small change purse out. "Yeah, but this money that Gracia gave us isn't going to last forever."

"It would have," Al says to him with a bit of sourness "If we'd have stayed with Noa."

Ed just looks out the window, ignoring his brother.

The bus rolls into the city, driving along with all the little cars and trucks. It is a lively place, with people walking the streets, and a lovely steeple visible over the treetops. A clock tower stands in town square, ringing out with boisterous sound.

Ed looks out the window, pointing. "There it is, Al. That's the university there, I bet."

Ed and Al get off the bus when it stops at the station. Ed counts the money they have and sighs. "This is barely enough for one hotel room. We'd better get jobs quick, or we'll be living on the street."

"We can always camp like we did back on the island," Al told him.

"Yeah, but try finding a rabbit around here. Our bad luck, it'd be somebody's pet." He pockets the money and they start to walk.

Al follows in behind, quietly. "We could have been camping with Noa. And Serkan and Lucine. Then we wouldn't have had to worry about a hotel room..."

Ed continues to walk, ignoring his brother.

There is a strangely serious look on Al's face. "...Why did we leave Ed?"

...Edward does not answer.

Al asks, "Why did YOU leave?"

Still, Edward walks.

"...You were afraid that somebody might actually get close to you... is that it?" Alphonse says, but still his brother will not answer. Ed doesn't even turn to look at him. There is a long silence. "...You're waiting for Winry, aren't you?"

And then Ed stops.

They're both very quiet. Al's voice is strangely grown-up for a child. "You're not going to find her, Ed... And even if you did, it's not the same Winry. And you know that."

Ed clenches his fist tightly... and then he walks on. Al sighs in his chest and continues to follow.

After much walking, Ed looks up and sees what he's been looking for. "There it is!" he points. "A university! I knew it! Ha ha!" He jogs up to its entrance, Al coming up behind.

"Wait for me, Brother!"

"Ah, this is great!" Ed says with a big smile. "Like I said before - chemistry is this world's alchemy. And with yours truly being the best alchemist around, and all that work I did with rockets, I'm sure to get a job here! We'll be sitting high in no time!" Ed dashes off into the grounds, Al still trying to keep up while carrying his suitcase.

"Brother! Slow down!"

"What do you mean you won't hire me?!" Ed says with a bit of angst as the man across from the table clears his throat.

"I'm sorry, but you're simply not qualified. You have no formal schooling. You have no references. I'm sorry, but the university just can't take chances on a dark horse. I'm very sorry."

Ed leaves the office, closing the door behind him with a grunt. A janitor lady is standing there, leaning on a mop. "So, how'd it go?" she asks him.

"Not good," he tells her with a hand on his face, exhausted. "They won't even give me a chance to prove myself."

She gives a bit of a sad smile. "Yeah, I know. It's tough to get a job these days, what with the economy and all. Listen - if it's any consolation to you, I'm looking to hire on a few more janitors."

"Huh?" Ed looks over at her.

"It's not much, but it pays. At least it might put a roof over your head and some food in your belly."

Ed gives a half-hearted smile, glad to finally see some kindness, no matter how humble. "Thanks."

With mops and buckets in their hands, Ed and Al look at the campus that lay before them.

"Well buddy," Ed says to his brother, "We've got a lot of work to do."

"Better get started then," Al says, and they go their separate ways.

Ed starts in a restroom with a brush and a sponge - though the grout in the tiles won't come clean. He scrubs harder, with the same result, finally sending Ed into a crazed scrubbing fury with a string of screaming to follow - "AAAAAAHHHH!"

Al's a little less cranky about the whole prospect. Cheerfully he walks down the hall, pushing a broom and moving all the dust and dirt into one corner to scoop it up - however, only being thirteen years old, he can't help but attract the attention of all the adults. He's such a tiny janitor...

Ed enters a lecture hall, picking up a small trash can and dumping the trash into a larger trashcan, but then he stops. The professor at the front of the class doesn't even notice him. Instead he continues his lesson: "The unstable nucleus of the atom continues to lose energy, the energy radiating outward - hence why we call it 'radiation'..." Interested, Ed looks around the room to make sure no one is looking. And then quietly, he pulls out a chair and sits down.

Al is in the dining hall, mopping the floors. Over at a table, some students stand around, watching the little boy, they chuckling.

"Hey! Watch this!" one says to the other.

He knocks over a cup of juice onto the floor. Immediately, Alphonse hears the noise, and quickly he jogs over and mops it up. With a nod and a smile, he triumphantly returns to where he was before, unaware of the fact that the boys are laughing at him. Another one knocks over yet another cup, but this time Al catches on. With a grimace, he marches over and mops the mess - and with a turn on his heel, smacks the man in the face with his mop.

"Hey! You little runt!"

And Al walks away.

Ed in the meanwhile has resumed his duties - though he now wishes he hadn't: in this particular hall, the restroom wasn't very modern. Suffice to say it was only a drain on the ground and nothing more. Ed's face is blue as his eye twitches, thankful he's wearing gloves. But still...

In the courtyard, Al is picking up trash and shoving it into a bag as students walk the grounds. He comes up to the water fountain and picks up a leftover sandwich, ready to throw it away when he spies some birds hopping about near him. He smiles.

Later that afternoon, as the land is painted with a hinge of gold from the sun, Ed tiredly walks up to his brother who sits on the edge of the water fountain, feeding the birds. He sits down next to him.

"Uck! I never knew people could be so filthy. How do women do it all the time, cleaning up after men?"

"I don't know," Al says, enjoying watching the birds. "I guess they just have stronger stomachs than us." He tosses a niblet of bread to one bird, another bird jumping for it. So he tosses another bit for the other bird, but it's still trying to get the first piece. "There's plenty of bread. You don't have to fight over it."

"Heh," Ed scoffs. "Seems like birds are no different than humans."

Al gives him a bit of a grumpy look. "Do you always have to be so cynical about everything, Ed?"

Ed rests his hands on the water fountain, angrily looking to the sky. "We shouldn't be doing this. We're better than this! If I knew where my rocketry group was, I'd have a real job right now! But without references, the university won't even let me near any equipment - say for a mop."

"Where do you think they are, your rocketry group?"

"Heh! I know exactly where they are! That damn Thule Society has them under wraps so they don't say anything about the Gate..."

Al continues to feed the birds quietly, and for some reason, he seems a bit nervous to look at his brother. "...Do you think it'd be possible to re-open a Gate?"

"Doesn't matter," Ed responds. "We don't want to risk an interdimensional war."

Al nods. "Yeah. You're right about that..."

After school one day, Ed is cleaning down the tables in the science hall. "Man, I'm so tired," Ed says to himself. "I wish this day was over already..."

"No, no, no!" He hears someone say. He looks up to see three students at a table near the chalkboard. Two stand, one sits with the papers and calculator. "For the last time, that's not going to work!"

"It would if you would just give it a chance!" The other protests.

"Chance has nothing to do with it! This is science!"

"It's called experimentation! How do you expect to ever see results if all you do is theorize?"

"You can't change the nuclear structure of an element! Nuclear transmutation requires decay over a long period of time!"

Ed grumbles to himself, scrubbing the table harder as he growls under his breath, "They wouldn't know transmutation if it hit 'em in the face..."

The student sitting down scribbles and erases furiously, trying to keep up the pace, "Will you two be quiet? How am I supposed to run these numbers if I can't concentrate?"

Ed looks at the board, a very long equation running across it. He stares at it for a moment, very quietly as the students bicker. Unnoticed, Ed walks over to the board, and with the side of his hand, uses his glove to erase something. He picks up the chalk, writes something down, and then walks back over to his table and continues wiping.

The student at the table sighs. "No, he's right. It won't work. It's hopeless."

The one student standing smiles as the other sighs, defeated.

"I was certain it was possible. Check the numbers again."

"Again?! I'm tired of that!"

"Well maybe there's something we missed." He looks over his shoulder to the chalkboard, pondering... and then he pauses. "Hey. That number there is different. Is that what you have written down?"

They all look to the board and then look down at the paper. "No."

"Run that one instead."

The student punches in the numbers, erases some things here, scribbles a few things there... "Huh. You know what... this might actually be possible..."

Pleasantly surprised, our skeptical student stands proud. "Good thinking!"

...But the second student is confused. "I didn't change it."

"...Well I didn't change it. Did you change it?"

"No, I didn't change it."

"Well who changed it?"

They're quiet for half a second, before they actually realize that there IS another person in the room. But it's just the janitor...

The skeptic points to the board... "Did... you change that?"

Ed looks up as if he hasn't been listening, "Hmm? Oh, yeah." He puts his rag to the side for a second and stands up straight as he points to the board, hand on hip, "You forgot to take into account the composition of the material. The particle flux is completely dependent upon it. Without solving for that, you're not going to have a correct prediction for burnup in a reactor." And then Ed just smiles and nods and goes back to wiping down the table.

The students are speechless. The leader of the group looks at the board, and then looks back to Edward. "...Would you... like to join us?"

Ed smiles that big toothy grin of his as he comes over, "Sure! I'd love to!"

That night, Ed comes walking into the small apartment that he and Al share. He closes the door behind him and hansg up his coat. Al is in the kitchen, boiling a pot of soup, though it's more water than anything. They hardly had money for food. Al pokes his head out of the kitchen.

"Ed. Where have you been all night?"

Ed sits down in the only chair they had, hard and wooden, and he stretches his arms. "I had a great day, Al! You wouldn't believe it!" he chuckles. "I totally blew away these advanced chemistry students. Advanced! Can you believe it?"

"Wow," Al says as he came around the corner to listen to his brother. "What'd you do?"

Ed, being smarmy, waves his hand as he smiles. "Aw, it was nothing. You'd think I was learning advanced science since I was a kid or something."

Al laughs and throws the rag he has in his hands at Ed.

"They say they're going to show my work to the professor tomorrow."

"Really?!" Al said excitedly.

"Yep!" Ed says as he gives an accomplished stretch and relaxes. "They'll be offering a job in the science department in no time!"

Or maybe not... just a few days later, there is a gathering around the science department bulletin board. Ed and Al notice this little throng of people.

"I wonder what's going on over there, Brother," Al says.

"Don't know." They walk over, Ed stretching his neck a little bit to try to see. He and Al gently push their way through the crowd. On the bulletin board is posted a small article. "What is this?!" Ed spurts angrily.

The bulletin headline reads: Amazing Breakthrough Discovered - Three students theorize that artificial transmutation may be possible

Ed has a contained rage about him, his face very angry, but he saying nothing.

Al however is infuriated. "They can't do this! That's YOUR research, Ed! You should tell them!"

Ed closes his eyes and turns around, leaving, "Forget about it."

Al follows after him, stopping in front of him, "No! I will not forget about it! It's not fair!"

Ed sidesteps him, "Nothing is fair here, Al..." and he continues to walk on.

Al watches him walk away, and Al has an angry sadness about his eyes.

Though the Elrics aren't the only ones having trouble.

"Dammit Fredricks! I told you this was a bad idea!" shouts the student who had previously run the numbers.

Fredricks, the skeptic of the group, tosses a pack of paper at his classmate. "Keep it down, you idiot!"

The third student moans, "What are we going to do? The professor wants us to explain our findings to the board, and in FULL! I can't remember HALF the stuff that janitor taught us!"

"Shut it!" Fredericks comes up and his classmate's mouth, growling in a hushed tone. "You want somebody to hear that?! Do you know what it'll do to the reputation of this university if anyone finds out that the JANITORS are smarter than the STUDENTS?! Funding will fall through! Not like it's hard enough already!"

The student sitting at the table sighs, "But still - we're in a real dilemma here. Sure we know the answer, but we can't explain WHY the answer is the answer it is."

The other student moves Fredericks's hand from his mouth. "Let's get the janitor back here. Maybe he can help us again."

"Absolutely not!" Fredericks says sternly. "Do you think I'm gonna let some two-bit toilet cleaner take the credit for our findings?"

"But Fredericks, HE'S the one who figured it out-"

"Sure! After WE wrote down the whole equation! All he did was change a number!"

"Yeah, but-"

"All right, listen! At the very least, I'll bring him back to give us a quick run-down before the meeting - but I DON'T want him in that board room, do you hear me?"

Ed is walking the hallways of the university, when standing at the corner is Fredericks. Ed gives him an angry glare, and then he starts to walk past.

"Hey," Fredericks says, "About the other day - thanks."

Ed just continues to walk, a sarcastic and angry tone to his voice, "You're welcome."

Fredericks follows after him, stopping him by grabbing his arm, "Now hang on a minute. I know what the school paper made it look like, but you got it all wrong! We were glad to have you help us."

Ed turns around, knocking Fredericks's hand from him. "Sure! Is that why you failed to give me credit?!"

Fredericks shrugs smugly, "All right, so maybe in all the excitement we forgot to mention you - but it's not about who gets credit; it's about scientific discovery!"

"Yeah, sure." And Ed continues to walk off, but Fredericks jumps in front of him.

"Just hear me out - The professor wants us to present our findings to the board, but we're in a bit of snag. You see, we think they might ask us some complicated questions, and we'd appreciate it if you gave us a little bit of tutoring beforehand."

"Forget it. You're the genius here. You're on your own!"

"Ah-ah-ah!" Fredericks says in a sing-song tone. "I wouldn't be too hasty." He produces from his breast pocket a lump of bills. "This might interest you. After all, science does pay. And these aren't Marks; these are Francs. REAL money."

Ed stops for a minute, looking at the money in the student's hand... he thinks about the thin pot of soup on the stove and the paper-thin walls letting the cold in... But then he thinks about the infuriated look on Alphonse's face this morning, something he rarely saw from his brother. Ed frowns. "Keep your money."

Fredericks is shocked as the janitor walks away. "Wait! Wait! Don't you leave me!"

Ed continues to walk away, but Fredericks stomps into the middle of the hall, pointing a finger at him as he walks further away.

"If you don't help us, I'll see to it that you're fired!"

Ed stops in his tracks. Fredericks gives a snakely smile.

"See? Now you're listening to reason."

Ed's shoulders slump, though he didn't turn to face the student.

Fredericks continued, "It's a shame, you know. I'd hate to think of that kid brother of yours starving to death on the street. And honestly - if you get fired from a janitorial position, who would really hire a loser like you?"

Ed is quiet, his shoulders betraying his low self-esteem at this moment. "...What do you want me to do?"

Fredericks smiles.

That evening, the members of the board all pile into the meeting room, each one shaking hands with the other, exchanging pleasantries and the like.

The president of the university walks into the room, nodding and saying hello to colleagues. And then he pauses, noticing the layout of the table - "Well, that's a nice touch." At every seat there is a glass of water, and at either end of the table a large pitcher of water. "I should say, we certainly won't be parched."

"Yeah," a colleague gives him a gentle nudge with an elbow, "But we won't be the ones giving any speeches! It'll be the speaker's who are parched!"

Everybody gives a bit of a chuckle.

Outside the room, the trio of students are panicking. "Where is he?! You said he'd show up, Fredericks!"

"Oh! We're doomed for sure!"

Fredericks grits his teeth. "He'll pay for this! Rrr!" He swings around, "Come on! We better not keep them waiting!"

In the board room, they enter. The professor stands. "Ah! Fredericks! There you are! Mr. President, I'd like you to meet my top student Mr. Fredericks. I'm sure you'll find his presentation fascinating."

Fredericks nervously smiles and gives a bit of a wave. The board members all take their seats as the president speaks, "Yes, well let us not take up anymore of your time, gentlemen. Please, you may proceed."

Fredericks nervously clears his throat. "Ahem, yes, of course." His fellow classmates lift up a board with some diagrams on it as Fredericks points to it. "Members of the Board - if I may direct your attention to... our board. These are our findings. You see, here we have some diagrams of what we have found, and I'm sure that you'll find that what we have found is a very interesting find indeed, heh-heh..."

The president raises an eyebrow at Fredericks's nervous chuckling.

Again, Fredericks clears his throat. "Yes, well..." He angrily thinks in his mind, "Damn you, Elric! When I get my hands on you!"

After about ten minutes of listening to the students prattle on, the president of the board excuses himself to use the restroom. When finished, he washes his hands at the sink, sighing.

"May I offer you a towel, sir?"

The president looks to the side where stands the janitor. "Oh, yes, thank you," the president responds, kindly taking the towel and wiping his hands.

"I see the water I left you made it's way through," the janitor smiles.

The president smiles back, "Oh, so you left that water for us. Thank you. That was very kind."

"Aw, no problem," the janitor humbly accepts. "I just wanted to make sure you gentlemen were taken care of. So, how's the board meeting going?"

The president sighs. "Not very good."

"Oh yeah? Why not?"

"Well, I must say, that I'm not all impressed with these students. I was promised something big and all they've done is show me a bunch of drawings without explaining them. I feel more like they're dictating from a textbook than actually presenting something new. It doesn't help that they're not explaining anything to me. I mean, they say they've created a new equation, but they didn't even hand out any sheets with the equation on it! They didn't even put it on any of those diagrams that they've showed us a hundred times over!"

"Really?" The janitor says. "Huh! That's funny! I had heard these three were geniuses! What are they telling you?"

The president threw up his hands as if to waive the whole business off. "Oh I don't know! They keep talking about isotopes and half-lifes and beta this and neutron that. I can't follow it. And that Fredericks character just keeps repeating the phrase, 'Nuclear Transmutation.'"

"Oh," the janitor says with all casualness, "It sounds like they're trying to explain the constant neutron flux involved with transuranic subjects. You see, the transmutation rates can be solved, but only with the proper equation, making sure that your decay is a constant." The president gives him a blank stare, so the janitor says, "Basically that means if you speed up the nuclear reaction of an atom, you can pull a lot of energy out of it and actually turn it into another element." He winks at the president. "Though I wouldn't try doing it though. You get some nasty radiation burns."

The president smiles, and slowly turning, raises an inviting hand to the door. "Would you... like to join us?"

The janitor gives a big toothy grin. "Why sure! I thought you'd never ask me!"

In the board room, everyone waits for the president's return so that the meeting can resume. The door opens and in walks the president with another man - and the students look horrified!

"Gentlemen," the president says, "I'd like you to meet Mr. Edward Elric. I thought I'd let him sit in on our meeting."

The other two students look surprised and nervous, but Fredericks looks angry. He clears his throat and adjusts his tie, pridefully pressing forward. "Pleased to have you here, Mr. Elric."

"No," Edward says with a huge smile across his face. "The pleasure's all mine."

Fredericks looks as though he's stabbing knives through Ed with his eyes, but Ed just smiles that smarmy smile of his, looking very pleased with himself.

Fredericks continues, "As I was saying before we took a break: the actinoids show much more valency, and are more concentrated to the higher elements, atomic numbers 90 and above, or thereabouts."

"I see," Edward says, looking oh-so amused. "Please continue."

Fredericks growls and then turns to his diagrams. "Here we see a demonstration of how over a long period of time, a higher number element can slowly decay and become a lower number element."

Edward butts in again, "Essentially meaning that you can turn gold into lead. That's no big deal. I thought it was supposed to be the other way around."

"Mister Elric!" Fredericks tries dearly to keep his composure. "If you'd KINDLY allow me to finish! Ahem! These transitional metals, as we call them, may in a sense, not truly be elements at all, but instead just a step between two actual elements."

"Well that's just silly!" Ed says as if correcting a child. "Elements like uranium and thorium do have a set number of protons meaning that they can be classified as elements. Now, if we were talking about HALF a proton, that might be different - but when we're dealing with radiation, we're simply dealing with the isotopes. Just because the number of neutrons on each atom may differ, that wouldn't change the atomic number."

"Grr!" Fredericks's blood pressure was rising. "Yes! But when you lose neutrons, the MASS will change!"

"So what?!" Ed asks of the frustrated student. "That's like saying someone could stand to lose a few pounds, but that's not going change him from a man to a woman!"

The members of the board all began laughing at the thought. Fredericks turns red with embarrassment, as he shouts,

"It's not the same thing! Will you please allow me to finish my presentation?!"

"Sure, when you stop being wrong. Tell me, actinium is composed of one radioactive isotope, but what about actinoids?"

"Uhm, well-"

"And you say they start at thorium - oh wait, no you didn't, because you can't remember your Periodic Table - "

"Now you stop right there!" Fredericks finally snaps. "How dare you come into this room and insult my intelligence!"

Ed continues on, very calmly, "You're the one insulting these gentlemen by wasting their precious time. I could take over the presentation for you, if you'd like. After all, you came begging to me this afternoon."

A few members gasp, other whispering. The professor looks to Fredericks, "Fredericks - is this true?"

"No! He's lying!"

"Oh yeah?" Edward says, calming pointing a finger over to the other two students who sit in quiet fear. "Why don't you ask those two? Go on - tell everyone how I tutored you."

One of them opens their mouth, but Fredericks turns on them, "Not a word!"

"Why?" Ed asks. "If I really didn't help you, then there's no danger in them speaking."

"Because you're making a mockery of my presentation!"

Ed looks at the professor. "You know what he does in your class all day, right? He sits there looking at pictures in girly magazines hidden in his textbook."

Fredericks's face freezes over with horror.

"Got to tell you, those girls do look pretty good in those bathing suits, but I don't think that really has much to do with chemistry, do you? I mean, unless we start talking about the balance of hormones and all that-"

"That is it!" Fredericks yells. "Get out!"

"Why? You seemed so desperate for my help earlier today."

"I'll have you fired, do you hear me?! Fired!"

"I thought you only threatened that if I didn't help you?"

Again, some gasps and murmurs arise from the board members. The professor finally stands.

"That is enough! Mr. Fredericks, Mr. Elric - I'm not exactly sure what the problem is between you two, but I demand that it cease." He calms down, "Now I brought these boys here to tell their findings, and that's just what they're going to do."

"Certainly," Edward says. "But I have a question. These are you smartest students?"

"Yes."

"Meaning that equation they wrote wouldn't be known by a humble janitor like me?"

"Janitor?!" The professor shouts with surprise. This time, the murmurs were not so hushed!

The president nodded, "Yes, I met him in the bathroom while he was emptying trashcans."

Edward stands from the table and moves the students aside, walking to the chalkboard at the front of the room. He picks up the chalk and begins to write down a formula. When he's finished, he turns around with a smile. "Well?"

The professor snatches the sheet out of Fredericks's hands, a sheet that only HE had! No one else in the room had it, nor was the equation on any of their diagrams...

"Well?" one of the board members asks.

The professor sets the paper down on the table, with a cross look of disappointment, "...Ver-batim..."

The crowd is amazed.

Finally, one of the students snaps, "Oh it's true! It's all true! He taught us everything!"

Fredericks grabs him by the collar, "You traitor! Be quiet!"

The president stands. "That is quite enough! I am very disappointed in you boys, stealing this man's work, and trying to pass it off as your own!"

Edward cuts in, humbly, "Well to tell the truth, sir, they did create the equation. I just helped them hammer out the kinks in it and explained to them why it would work."

"And that's exactly what we're looking for in this university. I'm tired of students who all they can do is recite from a textbook. If this country is to be great, we need some critical thinkers, men who can drive us into the future! Mr. Elric, I would like to offer you a grant to do research for us."

Fredericks looks sick with shock. "B-but Mr. President! He's a janitor!"

"And an intelligent fellow!" the president says. All the board members agree. "You owe Mr. Elric an apology, and the three of you need to study harder! And as for you, Mr. Fredericks - if your teacher ever catches you looking at girly magazines during class, I'll see to it that he has you cleaning beakers for the rest of your university career!"

Fredericks gulps with shame and embarrassment. Defeated, the three boys pack their project and went along their way, and the meeting was adjourned.

As the members of the board leave the room, Edward approaches the president outside the door.

"Sir?"

"Yes Mr. Elric?"

"Thank you for offering me a job."

"Certainly. I find it a shame that a boy as bright as you were left with nothing more than a broom."

"Yes sir. Well, at least you can brag to other universities that even the janitors here are smart!"

They both laugh and the president gives Ed a hearty pat on the back. "And a good sense of humor! I like you, son."

"Sir, I was wondering - I'll be glad to do research for you, but only if you allow me to have my brother help me."

"Why certainly. Of course he'll have to prove himself, but if he's anything like you, I'm sure he'll do fine."

"Thank you, sir. We won't let you down!"

Ed and Al walk up to the gates of the university, both of them well-dressed (although a suit on Al looks a little funny for his age).

Al fiddles with his tie. "I can't believe it, Ed. We're actually researchers at a university."

"Yep. And now not only do we have enough money for food, we're one step closer to finding that uranium bomb."

Proudly, Ed and Al walked through the gates and down the path to the halls of knowledge.

To Be Continued


	4. The Man of Stone

The birds twitter in the sky as the early morning sun stirs the city to life. Chimneys burst to life with clouds of smoke as breakfasts are made. Window shutters open to let in the life of a new day.

Alphonse is lying in bed, snug in his covers, his blanket bundled up close to his face to keep warm. As a cloud moves through the sky, the sun peeks out from behind it, and falls through the window and onto Al's face. Gently he stirs, his eyes dark with sleepiness. He stares out into the darkness of the room, silently... and he thinks to himself...

_...Sometimes... when I wake up... I forget where I am... and I wonder... 'Why am I here?' ..._

He sits up in bed, rubbing his head to unmat his matted his hair and get the sore feeling off of his skull. Laying in the bed that sits beside his own is Edward, fast asleep and unaware of the world. Groggily, Al looks out the window, still thinking...

_...And then I remember... This is where we live now... But I still wonder... is it home?_

The year is 1925.

The university hums with life as students move about its grounds, people moving in and out of buildings, some just getting ready to start the day, others having been there for hours already, even though it was just now morning.

Ed and Al are walking the grounds, heading for the Science building, carrying briefcases with them like proper university staff. A fellow worker by the name of Zimmerman trots up to them.

"Hey Elrics! How are you this morning?"

"We're all right," Ed replies with a bit of a smile, feeling pretty good today.

"Did you hear? A researcher in Göttingen is going to be receiving the Nobel Prize!"

Ed gives a short chuckle of delight, "Oh really? What for?"

"For his work in _colloidal solutions_. I didn't hear all the details - I was just eavesdropping in on the professors while passing through the lounge."

Ed laughs, "Sounds like I should be working in Göttingen instead of here."

Zimmerman gives Ed a pat on the back, "Yeah but we like you here. And with you gone, who'll protect Al?" He gives Al a big rub on the head with a big smile. "Why he'll be at the mercy of all those pranksters we call researchers! They'll be rigging his desk full of vinegar and baking soda in no time!"

"I can take care of myself!" Al protests, moving the man's hand away.

Zimmerman laughs, "But you're still so short! Aren't you ever going to be tall like your brother?"

Al laughs, "Ed? Tall? You're taller than he is."

"Well you know what I mean."

"And besides, you should have seen Ed only a few years ago. He-"

"ZIP IT!" Ed threatens, Al trying to stifle a giggle.

"Oof!" Zimmerman bumps into someone else, a professor, who was walking with a small gathering of other professors.

"A-harumph!" The old man protests, his mouth barely visible for all his bushy white whiskers. "I say there! Watch where you're going!"

Zimmerman wrings his hand apologetically, "Sorry Professor Heidelmann, sir."

Professor Heidelmann and his little following continue along their way, and Ed could hear Heidelmann talking, his voice slowly fading as the group moved further away: "As I was saying, the philosophies that metaphysics present are often hard for many to comprehend. Yet they fail to see that there are many metaphysical properties already taught to them in their own religions..."

Ed shakes his head with a smile. "I'm glad I'm not in Philosophy department. I don't think I could stand all the talking they do."

Al trots up to Ed a little, "I don't know. I kind of like what they have to say. It's interesting sometimes."

"It's all just a bunch of bologna, that's it."

Their friend gives a smarmy smile, "I think it's just because you don't like people arguing against you. Kind of frustrating when somebody has a point, isn't it."

Ed sternly looks at his co-worker, "Shouldn't you be at a test tube someplace?"

Zimmerman smiles more, "Y'see? Someone argues with him and he changes the subject."

Al smiles too, "That's my brother!"

Ed gently pushes either of them by the head, moving them to the side, "That's it, both of you. Get to your labs and don't come out until I say so."

In unison, both Al and Zimmerman say, somewhat mockingly like children, "Yes Mr. Elric," and all three of them go their separate ways.

Al works in the Pharmaceutical division of the university. With a mortar and a pestle, he takes a few chunks of minerals and puts them into the bowl, giving them a good grind to mix them together into a fine powder.

Ed works in the Chemical Technology department, combining chemistry with machinery. The alchemist in Ed hasn't died - far from it. He still loves pulling things apart and putting them back together (though his colleagues don't appreciate it when he tears down their hard work). The distinct smell of a science lab mixes with that of an auto garage, and the sounds of clinking beaker glasses mix with the metal 'ting' of wrenches as they work.

Later, Ed and Al meet in the dining hall on campus, they walking through the room to find a table.

Al has a bit of skip as he walks, unable to escape the fact that he's still a bit of a child. He happily talks. "And they say that with this machine, you can trace electrical signals in people's bodies!"

"Really?" Ed asks, intrigued. "Is that so?"

"Yeah! I mean, I guess it makes sense, that there's electricity in the body - but being able to track it! That's so neat!"

Groups of students cluster at different tables, all chit-chatting about something, professors doing the same. As Ed and Al pass one table, they could hear some professors in a heated discussion:

"I hear in America they're trying to make it illegal to teach the theory of evolution."

"Well they simply can't do that! Why withhold scientific findings?"

"It's not so bad. It's just a theory."

"GRAVITY is just a theory - and we base practically everything on that!"

Ed shakes his head as he and Al pass the table. "Somebody's always got to be complaining about something."

Alphonse look to his brother, "I think that's a shame - governments stopping people from learning."

"They do it all the time," Ed tells him. "Like the military not telling us about what really happened in Ishbal. If you keep people in the dark, you can lead them to believe whatever you want."

"Yeah, but people are smart. They can figure things out," Al says, giving humanity the benefit of the doubt.

"A single person is smart," Ed tells him, "A group of people are stupid. Once you start to lump people together, nobody thinks anymore. All those brains and not a one of them in use. The problem is you can tell them a lie, and if it's good enough, they'll believe it."

"You there!" Suddenly a pack of paper was shoved into Edward's face, preventing him from walking as he was startled. "I see you're a smart man! And I see that you hate being lied to! Well my good sir! Than you HAVE to read this! It's so very important!"

Ed brushes the man's hand aside, "I can't even see it! You've got it too close!"

Al looks on curiously, "What is it?"

"The truth, my friends! The truth! We are being lied to! And it must stop! The Jews who control our government are masters in the art of lying, and they're conspiring to destroy the Fatherland!"

Ed moves the man aside and angrily walks on, "Get out of here, you loon!"

The man forces the papers into Al's hands, Al nervous as the man continues, "Here! Take it! Arm yourself with knowledge!" And the man continued on his way, looking for his next person to try to convert.

Al looks down at the paper, the title reading _Mein Kampf_. "My Struggle?" Al asks, perplexed by the papers.

"It's just propaganda, Al. That's exactly what I'm talking about. You write down a few fancy words, you pass them out to people, and hope like hell they'll believe it."

Standing in the shadows, unknown to the boys, is a man... He's at a distance, but not so far that he could not hear them converse. He kept an eye on them as they moved through the dining hall.

"Who's Adolf Hitler?" Al asks, reading the title page again. "Is he important?"

"Nah," Ed waives it off. "Probably just some idiot with a type writer. Crazy people like that never turn out to be important."

When they start to get too far away, the man starts following them, though keeping enough distance between himself and them so as not to be noticed.

Ed and Al sit down at a table with their food and begin to eat. "That guy shouldn't even be allowed to be passing out those papers," Ed says.

"But isn't that the same as keeping knowledge from people?" Al asks.

"Yeah, but this is just a pack of lies here."

"Well maybe that's how people feel about that evolution theory."

"That's different! That's science!"

"Ah-ha!" Al says with all smugness, "But how do you know it's science? How do you not know that it's all just a conspiracy theory constructed in a secret lab?"

"That's just stupid!" Ed says.

Al gives a bit of a giggle, "But it's the same principle. Regardless of the material under scrutiny, there's always the chance that the facts can be wrong."

"Then why call them facts?" Ed protests.

The mysterious man quietly takes a seat at the table behind them, facing the other way so that they cannot look him in the eyes.

"So then what do you consider the truth, Ed?" Al asks him.

"The truth, huh?" Ed responds. "...I guess I'm still looking for that..."

And the man smiles.

Later that evening, while the sun is setting, and the entire campus is painted with a red hue, Ed is leaving the now empty campus. Al had already gone home, and now Ed, after having worked late, was ready for some rest and relaxation.

But then, he stops. Along the path, there stands a man... he seems familiar... and yet strangely foreboding...

Ed can feel a knot gathering in his stomach... And then the man begins to move! And towards him! Ed doesn't know if he should just keeping walking or turn the other way. But as the man grows closer, Edward is transfixed on his face...

_Roy?_ Ed thinks to himself.

The man stops in front of Edward, and there he is - Roy Mustang, staring him in the face. But it's not him. It's not the Mustang that Edward knew. Something about this man is... unsettling.

"Edward Elric, I presume?" the man asks.

Ed narrows his eyes a little, his distrust clearly showing. "Who's asking?"

"Allow me to introduce myself," the man says, removing his hat with a slight bow. "I'm Roy Mustang."

"I thought so..."

"Hmm?" the man asks, raising an eyebrow. "You've heard of me?"

"I've heard the name," Edward tells him, "That's all."

"I see," Mustang says. He puts his hat back on his head and his hands in his pockets and then continues. "I've seen you here on the campus quite often Mr. Elric, and I must say, I'm intrigued with your work."

"Oh?" Ed asks, his expression rock-solid, never budging, even though something deep down tells him to stop talking. "Are you a professor here?"

"No, actually," Mustang tells him. "Retired captain of the military."

_Great_! Edward thought in his head. _A dog of the military. What do they want from me?_

Mustang continued, "My associates and I are very interested in getting to know you. I thought if you'd please, you and I could have a little chat."

Ed moves to the side, "No thanks. I've got to get home." And he walks past Mustang.

Mustang turns around, watching Edward walk away. "Too bad. I thought perhaps you'd be interested in what I have."

Edward stops. _Have?_ Ed slightly turns, "What do you have?" Was it the uranium bomb?

"A source of great power, Mr. Elric," Mustang says, a sly smile on his face.

Ed was ready to punch him right then and there to get the information out of him, but something stopped him. He didn't know what... was it... fear?

"I heard you talking today, about how you are seeking the truth," Mustang says to him as he walk closer. Quite frankly, Edward looked a bit like a scared rabbit as this familiar yet completely unfamiliar man encroached upon him. "Mighty is the Truth, and it shall prevail," Mustang says to him, stopping but inches away from him. "If you want to know the truth, I suggest we get to know each other." Mustang tipped his hat, "Perhaps some other time then, Mr. Elric?" And then he walks past Edward and walks away leaving Edward cold and alone, staring.

"Really?!" Alphonse is surprised. "I never thought we'd actually see him on this side!"

"Yeah, but I wouldn't get your hopes up, Al," Edward tells him as he strolls across their flat, laying his coat over a chair. "I plan to avoid him at all costs."

"What?" Al is confused. He comes around to the living room and takes a seat, moving their cat, Checkers, aside. The cat mews at Al, Al stroking it while the little furry mass of black and white nuzzles his hand. "I don't understand. Why don't you want to talk to the general?"

"First off, he's not the general," Ed says to him, his arms crossed. "You know that better than I do. These are two very different Mustangs we're dealing with. And quite frankly, I don't trust this one."

"But why not?"

Ed looks away, thinking to himself for a moment. Then he says aloud, "I don't know. But something in my gut tells me he's hiding something from me. He's not being sincere."

"Wasn't General Mustang always like that?" Al gives a bit of an awkward smile, trying to lighten the mood, but it passes over Ed without fazing him.

"Yeah, but this is different somehow. I can't place it, but... I don't know..."

"But Ed, how do you even know if this Mustang's trustworthy if you don't even get to know him?"

Ed looks back at his brother, "Don't forget, Al, he's not the same Mustang. Different world, different experiences - remember? Bradley on this side was a good guy. And Hughes is a bad guy. Hell! I even saw Dante and she was an actress or something!"

Al scratches his chin for a moment as he ponders, looking at the ceiling, "Wait, old lady Dante or Lyra-Dante?"

Ed is too wrapped in his thoughts to hear his brother. "All I'm saying is there's a high probability that people on this side of the Gate come out as opposites from our world. Scar blew people to little bits back there, but here all he doesis drive a truck and play a guitar. Mustang, no matter how much he annoyed me, was my best ally. I feel now that he'll be my worst enemy."

Al seems concerned, but then he smiles and says, "Yes, Brother, but in our world, Mustang was neither good nor bad. So maybe this Mustang is neither bad nor good?" He smiles awkwardly, hoping his brother will lighten up a little, but Edward only gives him an unamused, partly angry glance. Al just sighs.

"Still..." Ed says, as he looks at the floor, unable to uncross his arms for his nervousness. "He said he has something... something powerful..."

"Powerful? ...What could he have?"

Ed narrows his eyes. "The uranium bomb."

Al gasps. He jolts forward, scaring Checkers off his lap. "Brother! You don't mean he has it?!"

"He never actually said it. But he's been following us around campus, and who knows for how long. He may have found us simply because we were looking for it."

Al stands, somewhere between nervous and excited. "Then you have to talk to him! Brother! This is our first lead in a long time! We might actually be able to recover that bomb!"

Ed moves his arms in a little tighter, still looking at the floor. "Yeah I know, Al."

"Then what's stopping you?"

Ed is quiet, lost in a world of thoughts. What was stopping him? He suddenly flashed back to Colonel Mustang, flames bursting forth from his hands and the fiery light rushing towards Edward. But Ed calmed himself. Of course not. There's no alchemy like that in this world. He sighs under his breath and thinks, _Yeah, the easier way..._ would be for this Mustang to just pull a gun and shoot him. Ed sighs aloud with a growl.

"Brother?" Al is quiet, concerned by his brother's silence.

Ed finally moves, and started off for his bed. "I'll sleep on it..."

Beneath a strong spotlight, Mustang walks out of the darkness and into the light. The clothes he wearsare not the same as he had when he saw Edward earlier this evening. These clothes are more refined - a black suit, a large golden collar hanging about his chest, and soft white gloves.

His pupils constrict beneath the harsh lighting, but he closes his eyes as he bows his head. Mustang kneels.

A voice arises from the darkness. "What news do you bring us, Brother?"

Mustang says to the man in the darkness, "The man I have found is in fact Edward Elric."

"The son of Hohenheim of Light?" Another voice asks.

"Correct, sir," Mustang responds.

Another voice speaks, "Then it's true then?"

Mustang kneels his head further, "I do not know, sirs. He hasn't said much yet, but I will pry it out of him."

The second voice arises, "We must secure Edward Elric."

Mustang looks up with a confident smile, "Don't worry, sirs. I'm sure that I will be able to persuade Mr. Elric to join us."

The next day, Edward is walking along by himself, still lost in a world of anxious thoughts. He just can't get over what had happened yesterday.

_Was that really real?_ He thinks to himself. The whole experienced had been so surreal, seeing Mustang's face after all these years, a face Edward was sure he'd never see again.

And here he was... again.

Standing before Edward not but a few yards away is Mustang, this different Mustang, this unfamiliar Mustang.

Though he looks as though he is relaxed, Ed is ready to strike at any moment. "...What do you want?" Ed very bluntly asks.

Mustang gives a cheery smile, "I thought perhaps you were in better spirits today, now that you've had a full night's sleep."

"I'll have you know I was tossing and turning all night," Ed instinctively back-sasses. He can't help himself. Just seeing that face automatically makes him indignant.

Mustang still smiles though, "I'm sorry to hear that. How would you like a cup of coffee, then? I'm sure that will wake you up. My treat."

Ed glares at him for a brief moment. Then he closes his eyes, his brows furrowed but his voice nonchalant, "Yeah. Sure."

Sitting in a coffee shop, Ed looks as though he is grumpy, noisily stirring his coffee, the metal spoon ringing out off the sides of the china. Mustang has a raised eyebrow at Ed's quirky (or simply unrefined) behavior. He decides to strike up a conversation.

"So, I hear you're quite the scientific prodigy, Mr. Elric."

Ed doesn't seem interested, "Yeah, something like that."

Mustang nods, pleased, all the meanwhile adding some sugar cubes to his cup. "I'm glad to hear that. Scientific advancement is important in this world. The more we understand, the better our lives will be."

"So you're saying that you understand everything, is that it?" Again, Ed can't help but to snip at this Mustang, and he starts to feel a bit like an idiot.

"Hmm?" Mustang seems slightly confused at Ed's rude behavior. "I never implied anything like that."

Ed gives an aggravated sigh, "Sorry. When you work at a university, you deal with a lot of know-it-alls..." With a bit of comic angry darkness about his eyes, Ed stirs his spoon faster, "And people who think they can control everything you do and everywhere you go..."

"I see," Mustang says as he picked up the small pitcher of cream and pours some of it into his cup. "I didn't know university life was so hard. I'm afraid I came across the exact same thing in the military."

With a smarmy smile, Ed looks back at Mustang. "So a captain, huh? What's a-matter? You didn't have what it takes to make it to colonel?"

Mustang gives a short wry laugh in his throat as he brings his cup near his lips. "No. I'm afraid I'm too kind a gentle soul for the harsh life of the military."

_Yeah, I'll bet..._ Ed thinks in his head.

"But as I was saying, Mr. Elric, your scientific work is really opening new doors. I'm curious," Mustang leans in, just ever so slightly, "Where do you get your inspiration? It seems to me that you have an innate sense, as though you're in tune with the universe and how it works - am I correct?"

Ed turns sideways in his seat, closing his eyes and acting disinterested. "Yeah, maybe."

"Very few people can do what you do. You have a real gift."

"Eh, what can I say? It comes naturally to me."

"A man like you puts his heart and soul into his work. I suppose that comes naturally, too." Mustang's already narrow eyes seem to get thinner with intrigue.

Ed looks at him through the corner of his eye, a simmer in the pit of his stomach.

"Many a man puts his heart and soul into the things he does. It's what gives him purpose in life; helps him understand his place in the universe, in the grand scheme of things. After all, we are but part of the construction of the Great Architect of the Universe."

"Huh!" Ed gives a chuckling scoff. "Yeah, like cogs in a machine."

"What's your philosophy on life?" Mustang asks of him.

Ed sets his spoon on the table as he looks back at Mustang, "I'm not much of a philosophy kind of guy."

"You've never sat in on any of the philosophy professors at your university?"

"What, you mean a bunch of old men sitting around arguing? I think it's a waste of time. It's all conjecture. There's no proof to anything they're saying."

Mustang has his glass halfway lifted, eyes closed with a smile, "What's your take on religion then? The Bible is full of proof of God's existence."

"Wouldn't know," Ed says, "Never read it."

"So you're not a religious man then?"

"No sir, I'm a scientist."

Mustang laughs at Ed's remark. "Witty," he says with a relieved sigh. "Ah, but to only take one perspective - that's disappointing; especially for someone as broadminded as you. I think since the dawn of time, science and religion have been at odds with each other. On the one hand, science offers cold, hard evidence - but it can all be rather boring. On the other, religion offers hope to its followers, but it can be very disappointing. That's why I like philosophy," He takes a sip from his cup and sets it back down. "It's a marriage of the two - science and religion working in perfect harmony."

"Sure doesn't sound like harmony," Ed chimes distastefully. "All I ever hear out of the Philosophy Department all day is 'yack-yack-yack.' And a lot of them raise their voices too."

Mustang hums a chuckle.

Ed faces forwards, arms on table and his eyes burning and his voice low and solid, "What's this really about, Mustang?"

Mustang is slightly taken aback by Ed's brashness. He can see within the young man's golden eyes a deep seriousness, and a fervent determination. This makes Mustang confident. He hums, "Quite the impudent young man, aren't we? All right, I'll get down to business. I'd like for you to join my brotherhood."

"Huh?" Ed didn't expect this. "A fraternity?"

"Precisely," Mustang tells him. Mustang puts his hand out onto the table. Ed looked down to see a ring. He had noticed it earlier, but hadn't looked at its design - a gold band with a blue circle, in its center a gold diamond with a G in the center. Mustang continues, "I am a Freemason."

"What's that?" Ed asks.

Mustang laughs, "Really? You've never heard of us?" He gently pulls his hand back and then says, "No, I suppose you wouldn't have."

"What does that mean?" Ed asks.

"We are men like you who seek the Truth. To each his own. Every man is responsible for shaping his own destiny - but we have the tools to help one do it. You need only learn how to use these tools."

"I don't get it," Ed says, irked, "You brought me in here to get me to join a club? I thought you had something more important to tell me."

"Normally, we don't recruit people-"

"Then why start now?"

"Let's just say, you're a special case."

Ed doesn't know whether to be nervous or annoyed. Again, the strange aura was coming from this mysterious man before him. It was hard to pinpoint what the energy was. Was it good? Was it bad?

Mustang continued, "Your talents have drawn our attention, and we think that you would gain a great deal from membership."

"What are you offering? And if you say eternal salvation I'm gonna kick your ass," Ed says outright.

Mustang scoffs in his throat. "No, Freemasonry makes no such promises. All we offer is that you are willing to learn, to work hard, and to seek the truth."

"And what is this truth?" Ed asks.

"As I said before, it's up to each individual to decide on his own truth." Mustang stands, taking his coat off the back of his chair and laying it in the crook of his arm. "And I can see it in your eyes, Edward - that longing to know the Ultimate Truth, the secrets of the Universe. But then again, you already know a little bit about that, don't you?"

Ed stands, pounding a fist on the table,"Quit jerking me around! Why do you keep saying stuff like that? You don't even know me!"

"Do you know yourself, is the question."

"Of course I know myself! I know myself a lot better than most people!"

"Then you know it - the energy that surges through your body, the connection between spirit and matter."

Ed stops for a moment, and listens.

"You know that spiritual energy lies within all things, and that this energy is the tool that can shape these things, change them, like magic. But it's not magic, is it? It's science."

Ed's blood ran cold. He knew this. He knew what Mustang was talking about. But how did _Mustang_ even know what he was talking about?

A moment passes between the two men. And then Mustang speaks.

"You know as well as I the visible and the invisible. You asked what Freemasonry has to offer you. My answer to you is, it is a science of the soul. You say you know yourself, Mr. Elric. You know what you are made of. Good. But that's only one part of the journey. Are you willing to break yourself down and rebuild yourself into something new?"

Ed's heart stopped. He knew these words. He knew this sequence.

"Come with me, Edward, and I'll show you."

The sun had set and darkness was falling all around. Edward walks silently behind Mustang, the only sound that of their shoes on the stone sidewalk.

Mustang stops in front of a building, a rather plain looking building, average, but above its door frame was engraved the same symbol as that on Mustang's ring. Mustang walks up the steps, Edward following, and Mustang knocks on the door.

A small peering hole slides open in the door, a pair of eyes looking out into the darkness. A gruff voice questions, "Who comes here?"

Mustang answers, "One who comes seeking the light."

Briefly after, the sound of a lock loosening is heard, and the heavy hinges creak as the large door swings inwardly open. Mustang enters. Coming behind him is Edward, his head slowly looking all around, up to the high ceiling to take it all in. Almost mysteriously, the door shuts behind him with a resounding thud, catching him by surprise. In the darkness there, he can barely see a man. But Edward's attention is pulled away by a spotlight that comes on, a bit blinding as Ed puts up a hand to shield his eyes.

Standing before him are three men, a bit on the elder side. The one in the middle speaks, "Who are you?"

Edward straightens up, and very calmly says, "I'm Edward Elric."

The one on the left asks, "Why have you come here?"

Ed is quiet for a moment as he looks over at Mustang who simply gives him a nod, and then Edward looks back to the men. "I come here seeking the truth."

And finally, the one on the right asks, "Why do you seek the truth?"

Edward is quiet again... and a moment passes over him, determination in his eyes and voice, "Because I have to. I have to know. I've always sought the truth. And I need it. I need to know."

The man in the middle gives half a nod, but his bushy old eyebrows are a bit furrowed. "Are there two members of our order who can speak on your behalf and vouch for your loyalty and strength of heart?"

"Two?" Edward asks, suddenly becoming concerned.

Mustang steps forward with a slight bow, "I can vouch, sir. I have full confidence in Mr. Elric."

The leader speaks again, "And anyone else who supports you, Mr. Elric?"

Ed didn't know what to say, "Well..."

"I do," a voice says. Stepping out of the shadows near the entrance is someone Edward recognizes from his university.

He gives a surprised little gasp, "Professor Heidelmann?" It was the philosophy professor!

The professor speaks with a nod, "I've seen this young man do great things. Little ever stands in his way. I am sure that he will benefit from membership."

The leader speaks, convinced, "Very well then. Mr. Elric, if you please. Follow me." And all three men begin to walk off into the shadows, through some unknown door.

Ed begins to follow after them, Mustang and Professor Heidelmann as well.

The room they enter is lined with cool tile, a few candles on the wall to softly light the room. In the center of this room stands a small altar, on it an open bible, and on top of it, builder's tools - a square and a compass, only they were golden, and laid out to make the diamond emblem as seen above the doorway.

As Edward enters, his eyes drift from the altar beneath the spotlight to something beyond it - yet another door. But then Edward stops with a shock - engraved on the door was a giant eye, staring back at him, mysterious carvings lining the giant doorframe. It looked like the Gate! Yet it was not the same...

One of the men stopped by the altar, motioning a hand gently towards the book. "Before you enter, you may pray to the god of your choice for guidance."

Insultingly, Edward gives a scoff. "What if I don't believe in God?"

The men look shocked, the leader giving an angry glance to Mustang, yet Mustang is as cool and calm as ever, a gentleness about his face. He says, "What **do** you believe in, Mr. Elric?"

Edward thinks for a moment, staring down at the book and the square and compass... And then he walks forward, kneeling before it, eyes closed... he thinks... and he thinks... He thinks about the Gate, and how life energy passes through it... He thinks about the Philosopher's Stone and all the lives that were sacrificed to make it for power... And then... he thinks about his mother... and her kind smile.

Edward whispers, "I know _you're_ still there... Please, watch over me..."

And Mustang smiles.

Edward rises, and the man escorts him to the large doors before them. Edward stands before it, staring in awe at its massiveness and design. Then suddenly, one of themen from behind puts a blindfold on him, spooking him! He feels Mustang close behind him, and he whispers in his ear, "Don't be afraid."

Ed only tenses up, BEING afraid, but without warning, he is pushed forward.

Ed stumbles a bit, finding his footing, certain he would run into the door, but nothing is there. He wanders around, blindly in the darkness for a moment, unable to find his way. Finally, his hand comes upon a wall, and he feels its smoothness, and he follows it down the long hallway, seemingly forever.

He can sense them. He knows the other men are there. But the unnerving part is he can't hear them. Are they even there at all? Or is he imagining things?

Suddenly the wall ends and Ed almost falls over on himself. He regains his balance, and he tries to find a new wall - but suddenly, someone from the front roughly grabs him by the shoulders, scaring him!

An unknown voice shouts at him, "Master Hiram Abif! Please teach me the secret of Masonry!"

"What?" Ed asks.

He hears a voice from behind, Mustang's, answer, "No. I will not tell you."

The voice from in front says, "Then feel my wrath!" And suddenly Ed gets hit in the head with a stick!

"Ow! Damn it!" Ed says, wanting to rub his head, but already he is being ushered along - by who, he doesn't know.

He doesn't get very far until yet another person grabs him by the shoulders, shouting at him, "Master Hiram Abif! Please teach me the secret of Masonry!"

Again, Mustang answers, "No. I will not tell you."

"You fool!" the man answers, and again, Edward is hit smart across the head with a stick, only bigger and harder this time.

"Ahhh..." Edward winces in pain, sucking in air through his teeth trying not to shout. He can feel his skull throbbing and his head bruising, the sensation of rushing blood flowing to the blows.

Again, one more man comes. His hands are huge, crushing Edward's shoulders. Ed can't move, and a deep menacing voice shouts at his face. "Master Hiram Abif! Tell me the secret of Masonry or I will kill you!"

Edward frantically thinks, fearing for his sore head, _Just tell him the secret! Justtellhimthesecret!_

But firmly, Mustang's voice responds one final time, "No. I will never divulge the secret of Masonry."

_Oh shit..._

Ed feels a great rush of wind blow upwards past him as the large man before him raises a club! The man shouts, "Then die!"

Ed gasps aloud!

And then... darkness...

...

...Slowly... the world comes back into blurry view... Edward is looking at the ceiling... he's laying down... someone is standing over him... it's Mustang. But he's different from before. Now he is dressed in fine black clothes, a gold collar about his neck.

Mustang leans forward as everything comes into focus. "Welcome back."

"Back?" Edward asks. He gently sits up, seeing beneath him a soft white linen, oddly, flowers and candles about him, as if he were on some sort of funeral altar. He looks confused.

Standing at the foot of the altar are more men, the three leaders and Professor Heidelmann amongst them. All of them are dressed in the fine black and gold uniforms. One of them laughs as he says loudly, "Looks like you hit him too hard there, Schmidt!"

They all laugh, the tallest and biggest amongst them giving a hardy laugh.

Edward rubs his head, "What happened?...?!" He was suddenly surprised, looking down at his hand, "Hey! My head doesn't hurt anymore! What did you do?"

Mustang speaks to him, "What you have gone through is the journey of the Master Mason, builder of the House of God. Masons are builders. But we create so much more than just buildings for people to gather in. We build places of hope and of worship, places that are filled with the spirit of Heaven. This is the duty and gift of a Mason. In him lies not only the ability to build matter but to build spirit."

Ed gives a short smile, amused. He had never thought of a church that way before. But as per usual, Ed couldn't take anything gracefully or seriously in front of that face. Playfully he says, "Really Roy, if you say anything about eternal salvation-"

Mustang gives a short chuckle. "As I said before, that is not our calling. We are but a humble band of philosophers who practice the crafting of stones."

Ed stopped a moment, "Philosopher Stone?" He gasps and jolts forward, "You're alchemists!"

"That's right," Mustang responds, "Though we are more speculative than we are actual operative."

"Wait a minute," Ed asks, becoming immediately distrusting, "You guys aren't like the Thule Society, are you?"

Mustang gives a bemused "humph" in his throat as he looked away and closes his eyes smugly, "We've been keeping a close eye on them. Though they too are interested in the secrets that alchemy holds, they intend to use it to destroy rather than to build. We heard rumors that they had on their side a man going by the name Hohenheim of Light."

"Oh, so you've heard of him, too, huh?" Ed says as he slides off the altar, putting his feet on the floor.

"In this world, Hohenheim was a scientist who lived and died in the 15th century."

Edward could feel a knot growing in his throat. "What do you mean _this_ world?"

"We know that you, your father, and your brother all come from the other side of the Gate – the world that the Thule Society likes to call 'Shamballa.' Don't look so worried, Edward – we have no intentions of reopening the Gate. It's our duty to make sure that the secrets of alchemy remain secret – that's the Gate included."

"So you wanted me to be a Mason…"

"Because we knew if the Thule Society or the Worker's Party ever got their hands on you, they'd force you to use your alchemic knowledge to build weapons for them. Here, you're safe with us."

Ed gives an unkind smirk, "Safe, huh? How do I not know that you're just like they are?"

"Those fools are nothing more than a political vehicle. They could care less about the welfare of mankind."

"Is that what you care about?" Edward asks.

"The three most important things to any Freemason are Brotherly Love, Honor, and Wisdom. These are the things a Freemason strives to maintain, not only amongst his fellow Brothers of the Lodge, but amongst any man he comes across. In his hands, he holds the power to help others."

Mustang holds out his hand to the other men of the lodge, showing them to Edward, ""We won't force you to stay, Edward. But know that if you're ever in trouble, we are your Brothers, and we're here to help you."

Edward surveys the kindly faces before him, taking it all in.

And then Mustang spreads both his arms with an air of gloriousness about him, "And I am the head of this lodge, the Worshipful Master Mustang."

Ed can't believe his ears. He pauses, only for a moment, before he has to bite his lip to stifle a snicker that finally breaks out into full-blown laughter.

Mustang is confused and semi-appalled at the indignity he's suffering. "Wh-what's so funny?"

Ed wipes his eyes of tears of laughter as he calms down, catching his breath. "I'm sorry. It's just that, oh! That title fits your personality so well!"

Mustang is a bit confused, "How would you know my personality? We hardly know one another."

Edward gave him a smile. "I don't know. I guess we just must have known each other in a past life."

Mustang returns his smile and he gives a nod.

To Be Continued


	5. Fond Memories

The lines are long and the food is small, but still the people are fed. Whether or not their stomachs are full, there is at least still some amount of food in them. Money is everywhere, all of it useless, and not all of the money in the country could buy a decent meal.

The year is 1927.

Ed and Al walk past, trying not to look too well off. They look as is expected of university men. Even though Al was not but 17, he looked as grown-up as his brother, already 22. Their clothing is nothing fancy, but they are clean and well-pressed - no patches, no tears. However in this failing republic, even this modest bit of cleanliness could be taken to mean that they were rich men.

"It's a shame, isn't it Brother?" Al says to Ed. "So many people going hungry."

"Yeah, and we're pretty close to being there ourselves, Al," Ed tells him. "We barely made last month's rent, and that's only because I had to get an advance on my salary. I can't keep doing that forever you know."

Al rubs his head, "I know, Brother. I'm sorry."

Ed sighs, "Ah, it's not your fault. If we just didn't have another mouth to feed," Ed says, referring to Alphonse's pet cat.

"I can't help it! I love Checkers! I don't want to see him out on the street!"

"Yeah but he's a cat. He can hunt for mice or something. Hell, if he was worth his weight, he'd bring us home some mice to eat. Not to mention that you keep buying him toys. We hardly have enough room for ourselves. We don't need junk cluttering the place up."

"Sorry, Brother..."

Ed looks over to the line of downtrodden people, their sad faces tugging at something inside of him. He looks forward and grumbles. "I could easily transmute a whole truckload of bread right now."

Al's face grows long. "Brother. We both know that's not going to happen."

"And why not?" Ed snaps a little, missing his abilities. "We have science, don't we? Why can't we fabricate bread in a laboratory?"

Al laughs, "I bet the university would give us all kind of funding for that."

"Oh, ha ha."

"No, really. If we could engineer food, it could all be made on an assembly line. We wouldn't have to wait for it to grow and we could solve all this hunger."

"But remember, young Apprentice," a man's voice says to Al from the side, "Even the industrious bee must work hard to keep the beehive fed."

"Oh, hello Mr. Mustang," Al greets him as he joins them on their walk. "How are you today?"

"Fine, thank you Alphonse," Mustang says to the young man. "Are you two headed for work?"

Ed slumps his shoulders, exhausted eyes to the sky. "Yeah. Time to work for money that doesn't exist."

"I know the feeling," Mustang agrees. "If I don't find a cheaper place to live, I very well may end up in that line with everyone else."

"Where do you live now?" Al asks him.

"It's just a small house a few blocks away from here. But even that's too expensive. Not to mention too spacious. There are a couple of rooms that have done nothing but collect dust and boxes since I moved in."

"Say!" Al brightens up. "I've got it! Why don't we all move in together?"

"Heh?" Both Ed and Mustang raise an eyebrow of curiosity.

Al continues, "We can hardly pay our rent; you can hardly pay yours. You have too much space and we don't have enough. If we just had one rent, between the three of us, we could pay it no problem!"

"Huh," Mustang chimes. "You know, the kid might be onto something."

"Al," Ed says, "You can't just go inviting yourself into other people's homes like that."

"Actually Edward," Mustang says, "I'd have to agree with Alphonse. It seems the reasonable thing to do."

"You think so?" Edward asks.

"I certainly don't mind," Mustang assures. "After all, it does get lonely in that old house. I could use the company."

"Whoo-hoo!" Al cheers, still yet to outgrow his youthful personality. "We can stay up all night, swapping stories, and playing games! We'll be just like brothers!"

Mustang smiles, pointing between him and Edward, "We are Brothers."

Al laughs with a smile, "You know what I mean Mr. Mustang."

Mustang nods, "If you're as prodigious as Ed is in the field of science, I see no problem with you becoming a Brother someday as well."

"You mean it?"

"Certainly."

Ed, still thinking about the housing situation,gives a bit of a grumbled sigh, "That means we'll have to pack everything. Why do you always plan my weekends for me, Al? I never get to rest."

Al just laughs as the three men walk down the street together.

Over the course of the next few weeks, Ed and Al keep themselves busy stuffing everything they possibly can into boxes. Checkers, being the curious cat as ever, has quite a time creeping through the city of stacked boxes lain on the floor. He sticks his nose to the edge of one and sniffs it to get an idea of what was inside. Then he hops up on his back legs with front paws on the edge of the box as he peers in. And with a spring, he promptly disappears into the papers and hay that serves to protect valuables.

Ed comes to a box, a pile of clothes in hand. He sets them down next to the box, and lifts a shirt to fold it so he can store it. But as he holds the shirt over the opening of the box and begins to fold, a black paw suddenly shoots out and catches the shirt edge in its claws.

"What the?!"

Checkers pops his head out and takes the shirt in his mouth and lays his weight upon his fabric victim.

Ed yanks back, "Hey! Let go of my shirt you stupid cat!"

Al comes in carrying some books with him, "Oh Ed, he's just playing with you."

Checkers now holds Ed around the wrist, biting at his hand and kicking at his arm with outstretched claws. Ed lifts his arm, cat and all, "You call THIS playing?!" He looks at the cat, disgruntled, "You'd better be glad this is my metal arm..."

The cat ignores him, merely jumping off and running away to hide amongst his kingdom of boxes.

"Crazy cat," Ed says.

As they move boxes in, Mustang moves boxes out. He is perplexed, though, as to where to put them now. So he starts unpacking them.

He rummages through one and pulls an object out, "There's where that teapot went. I thought I'd lost this."

Ed comes in, carrying a box much too big for him, and sits it down with a huff. "Whew. All right, here's another one."

"Careful, Edward," Mustang warns. "I don't want to get your boxes mixed up with my boxes."

"How does one come to own so much junk?" Ed asks, looking around at the mounds of dust collecting on shelves.

"I don't know," Mustang says to himself. "I just sort of pick things up here and there, hoping I'll find a use for it later."

"You ought to donate some of it to the poor," Edsays as he plays with a globe.

"What do the poor need with a globe?"

"Dunno. But I'm sure they could find a use for a teapot."

"But I like this teapot."

Ed chuckles, "And that's why you have so much junk. You never let it go."

Slowly but surely the conversion is complete, and Ed and Al now find themselves at a new residence.

"Just one more person," Al says, hauling a pet carrier at his side.

"Who?" Mustang asks.

"The other member of our family," Al says. He opens the carrier, and out hops a little black and white cat.

Al smiles, "His name is Checkers. Isn't he just the cutest?"

Mustang sheepishly points at the cat, a look of near-dread on his face. "You... you have a cat?"

Ed asks him, "That's not a problem is it?"

Mustang gently takesa step back, "It's, just..." The cat begins to rub up against his leg and instinctively, Mustang sneezes. He looks back up, covering his mouth and nose, his muffled voice coming through. "I'm allergic to cats..."

"Oh, Al!" Ed says, annoyed.

"I'm sorry!" Al apologizes, "I'm sorry! I didn't know! I should have asked first! But you can't make me get rid of Checkers! You just can't!"

"No, that's all right," Mustang says with a wave of the hand, trying to ignore the furball that is lovingly torturing him. "It would be unfair of me to make you do that. Just please, keep him outside."

"Outside?!" Al says, swooping up the cat. "But it's cold outside!"

"Relax, Al," Ed tells him. "We can always build him a house."

"But what if he gets attacked by a dog?"

"Then we'll build it on the roof."

Mustang asks, "What is he, a bird?"

Life progresses as normal, with the exception of Checkers sleeping outside. Ed in his spare time is hammering together a little house, though getting it on the roof is another matter entirely.

Al in the meanwhile is trying to look for cures to cat allergies, and, being an assistant in the pharmaceutical department of the university, has more than enough access to resources.

One day, Mustang comes walking into the kitchen where Al is at the stove boiling some water.

"What are you up to, Alphonse?" Mustang asks him.

"Making tea," Al says cheerfully.

"Ah, that sounds nice," He responds as he takes a seat. "You wouldn't mind making me a cup, would you?"

"I'm making the tea especially for you."

"Oh? Why?"

Al pours a cup, "It's a special tea." He brings it over to the table, "It's supposed to relieve allergy symptoms due to cats."

"Oh," Mustang says shortly, looking down at the cup a little reluctantly. "That wouldn't do anything about fur being left all over the house. And why is it green?" he asks, looking at the hot water before him.

"Not all tea is black," Al tells him.

Mustang picks up the cup, "Oh well. Bottoms up." And he takes a drink, after which he shortly coughs, gagging a wee bit. "Ew! What is this?"

Al is disappointed, "It's catnip."

"Catnip?! Are you crazy?!"

"But it's supposed to work."

"Not if it tastes disgusting!"

Ed comes walking in, setting down a tool belt he had been wearing, "Al, are you poisoning people?"

"No!" Al retorts.

"You're brother just fed me catnip!" Mustang shouts, a rather bit childishly.

Ed then asks, "Making people test subjects for your medicines, then?"

"Maybe..." Al says, rubbing his arm a little embarrassed, Mustang in the meanwhile wiping his tongue on a napkin.

Ed starts to leave and looks to Mustang, "Just add some sugar and lemon and I'm sure it'll taste fine."

Mustang looks at him sourly, "We don't have any lemons..."

Ed waves his hand as he exits, "Fine then, carrot juice."

"Ew!"

After Al has left the kitchen, Mustang picks up the teapot and takes it over to the window. He opens the shutters and begins to pour the rest of the tea into the flower box. After not but a moment, Checkers hops up into the flowers, spooking Mustang.

"Ahh! Oh! It's just you."

Checkers starts to lick the muddy puddles of tea. He shakes his head a couple of times, and then immediately begins to nuzzle Mustang's hand.

"No, no!" Mustang says, but as he tries to pull his hand away, Checkers locks his wrist in a hug and starts nuzzling harder.

Mustang tries to back away, dragging the cat inside. "No, no! Stop! Bad kitty! Bad kitty! ACHOO!"

And thus began a sneezing fit.

Later that day, Mustang sits in his plush chair, a blanket around him, his eyes and nose both red and watery.

Al brings him a cup, "This one is regular tea, I promise."

"Thank you, Alphonse," Mustang says with a sniffle.

Nights later, as they all sit at dinner, Checkers sits outside on the window sill, staring in at them. The rain pours down, and Checkers is little protected by the small awning around the house. Though his mouth is opened very wide, one cannot hear the meows Checkers makes.

So Al sits with a long face as he watches his cat silently meowing.

"Al, are you crying about that cat again?" Ed says.

"No!" Al retorts, turning back to his plate and eating angrily and silently, not good at hiding the truth.

Mustang looks to Ed, "Don't forget, we have a lodge meeting next week."

"Right," Ed says.

"If you don't mind me asking, Mr. Mustang," Al asks-

But Mustang interludes, "Please, call me Roy."

"Oh, okay. Roy - how is it you came to join the Freemasons?"

Mustang sets his fork aside, his eyes drifting to the ceiling nostalgically, "Ah, where to start? ...I suppose it would go much further back than before my joining. Masonry was sort of a way of life for me."

"How so?" Ed asks as he puts his fork in his mouth, both he and Al listening intently.

Mustang's mind drifts away as he speaks, drifting back to a different time so seemingly far ago, when things were better, grander. "My father was a Mason. As was his father before him. To me in those days of childhood, Masonry meant nothing to me. I didn't understand it to be anything special or important. To me, it was just the way of the world, the way life was. All it meant was every month, we took a trip north to visit my grandparents..."

In dreamy imagination, it's as if the walls fade away, and Mustang is a child again.

A young Roy leans slightly out of a horse carriage, watching the road go by.

Mustang continues telling his story to the Elrics. _"In those days we still used a horse and carriage, though there was always a new car on the road everyday."_

A little motorcar putts along past them, and young Roy leans out in awe. His mother tugs on his shirt, "Roy! Sit down! You'll fall out of the carriage!"

"Mother," he asks her, "May we have a car?"

His father chuckles, "Perhaps someday, but not today."

_"It always took a full day to reach my grandparent's house. And once we did it was always kisses and hugs from relatives, and listening to the adults talk while my cousins and I played in the fields all day."_

The children run through the tall grass, sticks in hand as they gallop along. The adults in the meanwhile are on the porch, sitting around smoking tobacco and drinking lemonade.

The children begin tossing the sticks at one another, seeing if the other could catch it. One of Roy's cousins tosses one towards him, and Roy runs after it, narrowly missing. He hops after the fallen stick that lay near the porch, and he slows as he picks up the stick. As he stands there, he looks up to where his father and grandfather stand, the two men conversing with one another.

He stares at his father for a while, the man's strong chin accenting his otherwise kind face.

_"Even though Masonry meant nothing to me, I always saw how good and noble a man my father was. I always had a great sense of respect for my father."_

His father looks over and notices him standing there. "Did you need something, Roy?"

Roy shakes his head, "No sir. I just dropped my stick."

"All right," his father says with half a chuckle. "Go on and play with your cousins. But don't do anything to hurt one another."

"Yes Father," Roy says, and he turns around and dashes off.

"And then came the 'Eating-Meetings'," Mustang says.

Edward asks, "Eating-Meeting?"

Mustang chuckles, "That's what I had once heard one of the old lodge wives call it. We always had a potluck meal before the men went off to a lodge meeting."

"I see."

Young Roy sits in a chair next to his mother as he watches everyone else stand around and talk. He slumps over in his chair, "Mother, this is boring."

"Hush dear," she says to him. "Be polite."

"But all they're doing is talking. They talked all day on the porch. How much more could they have to talk about?"

"I said hush. And sit up straight."

Roy pulls himself up, but his eyes still slump with a lingering sleepiness.

_"I often fell asleep half the time. I really had no business being there. My mother was in the same boat. She wasn't very social, nor did she come from a Masonic family, so it was all Greek to her."_

"Greek?" Al asks, a little confused.

"Hmm?" Mustang asks as he lowers his fork from his mouth, "You've never heard that expression before? It means something is foreign or strange."

"Oh..."

_"The only good part of the Eating-Meetings was the eating part."_

Little Roy lifts a fork in either hand with a great smile, "Whoo-hoo!" He immediately starts digging in to the mountainous buffet plate he'd constructed for himself, barely one dish discernable from the next.

_"The lodge wives always made such good food - it was almost worth the boring part."_

Later, Roy is eating a piece of chocolate pie, swinging his legs back and forth as his feet don't reach the floor in that chair. He's smiling and happy, when he notices the portly old man beside him also has chocolate pie.

The old man smiles at him, his wispy mustache curling at the corners of his mouth. And the old man picks up his fork and cuts off quite a large piece of his pie and eats it in one bite.

Amazed, Roy looks down at his own pie. He tries to take a piece just as big, but it falls off his fork and lands back on the plate before ever reaching Roy's mouth.

The old man chuckles, and takes another big bite.

Defiantly and stubbornly, Roy tries again, this time shoving a large piece of chocolate pie into his mouth, his cheeks puffed up like a chipmunk and whipped cream seeping from his lips like a rabid dog.

The old man laughs again, and now says, "Do you think you could beat me in a pie eating contest?"

Roy swallows his piece of pie, and his only answer is to start devouring what pie he has left. In an instant it is gone, and proudly he looks over, only to realize the old man has already cleaned his plate.

"Hey!" Roy says, surprised. "I still had a lot more pie left than you did!"

"Well then! An even playing field - let's each get one more slice, same size."

So they try again. Roy begins gobbling as quickly as he can, but in all of three bites, the old man has already finished.

By the end of that slice, Roy flops his head on the table, holding his stomach.

His grandmother looks to the old man and says, "Elmer! You leave that boy alone! You're gonna give him indigestion!"

Roy's grandfather chimes in, "Or make him as fat as you!"

Both the men laugh amongst themselves, Roy still rubbing his overly-full tummy.

Later, all the men begin to adjourn to an upstairs room. Roy watches all of them as they start to make their way up the staircase and go through a door, he curious as to what they were up to.

But his thoughts are interrupted as one of the old ladies comes over with her friends, surrounding him. "Oh look at little Roy! He's gotten so big since the last time we've seen him!"

"Oh he has his father's eyes, don't you know?"

"And such cute little cheeks!" One says as she begins pinching them, Roy utterly unthrilled at his predicament.

Minutes later, once the ladies had worn out all conversation they could upon him, Roy slips away, trying to escape the noisy clucking old hens.

He makes his way to the bottom of the staircase, and he stares up its flight to the door that lay in the shadows. What was it that the men were doing there? Certainly it had to be better than what was going on downstairs. And why were only the men up there? Was it a secret?

Roy begins to ascend the stairs, when his grandmother grabs him by the wrist. "Young man, you stay down here!"

"But grandma! I wanna see what's going on!"

"No," she pulls him down from the stairs, "You're not old enough."

"But grandma!"

"No more, now hush."

Roy crosses his arms in a huff. "I never get to do anything…"

_"I always thought I was so big and tough. That's why I wanted to join the military, to prove just how tough I was."_

It's a new day, back in the city where he and his family live. A military parade is making its way down the street. Little Roy pushes his way through the crowd, trying to get to the front to see everything. His eyes go wide with wonder.

Large white horses decorated in gold cords, men carrying large flags, soldiers marching in time, the clicking of their heels resounding off the pavement. Confetti and streamers rain down from tall windows above the scene, and the spectacle of it all is a sight to behold.

Roy is taking it all in, about ready to bounce out of his shoes with excitement. And then he spots the reason for the parade – a war hero. He sits in a car waving to the crowd, a large medal hanging from his lapel, flowers and flags decorating the vehicle.

Roy is awed by this. "_That was going to be me someday. I'd be a big war hero, and everyone would adore me."_

_"When war broke out in Austria, I jumped at the chance. I enlisted right away, just barely passing the age requirement."_

The scene changes from the bright white glittering parade to the dark dingy grey of the trenches. The sky is dark, the sun never seeming to be able to shine through the smog of fires burning and gases floating in the air. There is hardly any grass left, all of it burned or trampled or blasted away. Even the smallest bit of mud results in a quagmire of mud and muck.

Roy's boots stamp hurriedly across this landscape. With rifle in hand and helmet on head, Roy runs as fast as he can, heaving heavy breaths, avoiding the large rolls of barbed wire barricading his path.

A whistle is heard, growing louder and louder, closer and closer! BOOM! A great light and fire burst forth from behind him, sending Roy flying forward. He lands roughly in the mud, his rifle pressing deep into his chest, bruising him – even his bones feel bruised.

The trench – where's the trench?! The whole world is shaky, everything looking as though it were a ship on the ocean. Another whistle begins screaming through the air, getting louder and louder.

Roy tries to stand up, but the mud beneath him is slippery and his hands and feet slide out from underneath him. With no other means of moving, he brings his rifle close to his chest and starts rolling across the ground.

BOOM! The mortar fire lands yards from him, its blast shaking the ground and causing a hot wind to push Roy further along. The explosion causes him to pop up off the ground momentarily, and the drop back to the ground is much further than he expects – it lands him right in the trench!

A fellow soldier grabs him by the back of his coat, lifting him up, "You idiot! You trying to get killed?! Stay down!"

Roy puts his back against the trench, sliding down to sit on the ground.

"INCOMING!" another soldier shouts as more unholy whistles fill the air.

The explosions and the screams of men dying fill Roy's ear, his eyes shaking with fear.

_"I couldn't take it. The parades, the posters – they all made war seem glorious. But this was not glory. This was Hell."_

Machinegun fire accompanies the mortar shells, Roy's unit defending their position. A sudden burst of red and the soldier next to Roy is dead in a millisecond, a large gaping hole right above his eye. He falls down at Roy's feet. And Roy is frozen in horror.

_"So much death. So much destruction. And for what?"_

Blood oozes from the soldier's wound, mixing with the mud, making a putrid pile.

Months later, Roy, war-torn and exhausted, is walking up the small country road leading to his grandparents' house. There, on the porch, are his mother and father, his mother's eyes filled with tears, hands to her mouth.

Roy stops a short distance from them. He looks in her eyes, and smiles. A joyful sob escapes her lips, and she runs down the short steps and runs straight up to him, hugging him tightly. Roy wraps his arms around his mother, hugging her tightly back. He looks up at his father. There is a silence. And his father gives him a nod.

That night, Roy and his father are sitting in the den. His father pours a drink for each of them.

"…Dad? Can I ask you something?"

As his father sits, he looks at him, "What is it Roy?"

Roy is silent. He wasn't even sure what he wanted to ask, or if he even wanted to ask anything at all. He just needed to talk. "Did you ever think, when you had kids, that it would turn out this way? That we'd be forced to fight in wars, and kill other human beings?"

Roy's father is quiet for a moment, taking a sip from his drink, contemplating the question. "…Sadly, death is a part of life. But war doesn't have to be."

"But what can we do? Can one person, or even two people, prevent wars from happening?"

His father sets his drink down, "While one man cannot stop the whole world from fighting, he has the choice to not participate in the fight. Where other men destroy, he has the choice to build. Rather than hurt, he has the choice to heal."

Roy hasn't even touched his drink. All he does is look down at the floor.

His father continues, "There will be those who try to destroy what you have created. There will even be those who try to destroy YOU for creating. But you must always remember to hold onto to that which is true to your heart, and never change even if others try to force you."

Roy looks his father in the eyes.

_"That night, he told me the story of Hiram Abif, the Master Builder – of how he created great temples of worship. He was a man who built places of refuge and hope. The temples were far greater, stronger, longer-lasting than the military forts of the day. And if the secrets of master building ever fell into the wrong hands, than instead of places of worship, places of death would be built in their place."_

Ed and Al sit listening, watching Roy reminisce.

"That's when I knew," he tells them. "That's when I knew I wanted to become a Freemason. Concentrate on philanthropic work. Try, in some small way, to make up for the horrors I had participated in."

Ed feels a lump growing in his throat. It would seem this world's Roy was not all that different from his own world's. Both had suffered. And both seek redemption.

Roy slides a bit of food around his plate with his fork. "All one can hope is that another war doesn't break out; although I fear that is inevitable. But when and if it does, I'll be here at home trying to do my part to keep life moving normally for people in this city."

Al nods. "We understand. Ed and I have been trying for a long time to keep another war from happening."

Roy looks up at them, "What do you mean?"

Ed's eyes are stern, focused, "We've been searching for four years now. You'll forgive me if I never told you when we first met. I still didn't quite trust you then."

Mustang gives half a smile, "Understandably. Admittedly I was acting a bit shady. One has to tread lightly when dealing with matters about the Gate."

Ed nods, "Exactly. Before my brother and I ever landed in this world, there was something that came from the other side of the Gate – a weapon."

Roy sits up a bit, concerned, "A weapon like what?"

"There was a man by the name of Huskisson. In our world, he created what he called a uranium bomb, using an element whose atoms could be split, releasing a large amount of energy, all very quickly, like an explosion. We thought he has died."

Roy narrows his eyes, "But instead he traversed the Gate. And he survived?"

Ed nods. "I met a man, Fritz Lang-"

Roy is surprised, "Wait, like _the _Fritz Lang? Like the one who released that movie this year – what was it called?"

Al chimes, "I think it's called 'Metropolis.' I really want to see it!"

"The point," Ed continues, "is that he had a picture that he got from someone in the Thule Society. Huskisson was in it, as was the uranium bomb. Al and I got jobs at the university in hopes that we would hear about it and where it is."

Roy quietly sighs through his nose. "I really wish you had said something about this sooner. The Brothers and I could have sent word through the grapevine; had eyes and ears on the lookout for this thing."

"Like I said," Ed says, "I wasn't sure how well I could trust you a couple years ago. Considering we've moved in with you, I guess you can say we trust you enough."

Roy nods once more, "First thing tomorrow, you tell Professor Heidelmann about all this. The sooner we get a jump on this, the better. The last thing we all need is another war."

They pass the night away talking, the light from the dining room window giving a warn soft glow to the alleyway, Checkers still sitting on the windowsill, his chubby little body casting a long dark shadow. The sounds of crickets fill the night air, and shimmering stars fill the sky, heralding a new hope.

Author's note: Sorry for the tardiness in publishing. I've been sick and just slept 12 hours straight


	6. Murderer Among Us

The nighttime crowd disperses from out of the little cinema, each party going off in their own direction. Ed, Al, and Roy are also amongst this scene, Al gibbering excitedly.

"That was intense! Who would have guessed that _he_ was really the spy?"

"The ending was a little gruesome though," Roy chimes, "I liked Metropolis better."

"Even Metropolis was a little dark when you think about it," Al says. "But they're both really good!"

"Well that's Fritz Lang for you," Ed says, "Putting out one hit after another."

Roy asks, "You said he's a friend of yours, didn't you?"

Ed shrugs it off, "Eh. We really only met the once or twice, so I wouldn't say we're friends. If you're looking for an autograph, you'll have to ask someone else."

"But you know, Brother," Al says to him, "If he hadn't taken you along for that dragon hunt, you may never have found me."

Ed gives a small smile. "Yeah, that's true. Things happen for a reason I suppose." Ed looks up to the sky as he thinks, the stars in the sky twinkling just beyond the forming clouds. "Come to think of it, if it weren't for him, we wouldn't have even known that the uranium bomb made it over to this side."

Roy adds, "We've had word out on the grapevine about Huskisson for years now, and none of the other Lodges have returned any word back. If Lang is where you heard about this matter first, don't you think it's about time you asked him what else he knows?"

"Huh?" Ed stops walking, turning to face Roy, and then again his eyes drift skywards. "I guess you're right. I was hoping we would have found something on our own by now." He looks back at Roy, "Plus, we're trying to stay as far away from the Thule Society as possible. I don't know if I ever told you this, but Lang told me that his wife is one of them."

"She is?" Al asks, surprised.

"Well," Ed continues, rubbing the back of his head, "He never straight up said it, but he did say she was a fanatic and a sympathizer, so she might as well be."

"Still," Roy suggests, "It'd be worth seeing him again and finding out what he knows."

"So what," Ed asks, "We just show up on his doorstep?"

Roy chuckles, "You really have no idea how to handle social affairs, do you? You call, or write a letter, and let him invite you."

"What, just say, 'Hey! Remember me? I'm that guy that helped you fight a dragon. You wanna have tea?'"

Al laughs, "It's worth a shot."

The year is 1928.

The train slows to a halt, and with a resounding whoosh it lets off steam, the mighty giant dying down for a rest. The conductors open the doors and passengers begin to pile out with their luggage in tow.

Ed steps out of the train and onto the platform, looking around to get his bearings as Al and Roy also exit. Ed lifts the brim of his hat a little so he can get a better view, "So this is Berlin, huh?" Ed comments. "Doesn't look like much."

"This is just the station," Roy acknowledges Ed's sarcasm. "Wait until you see the rest of the city."

Indeed, as they head out into the afternoon streets, quite a sight greets their eyes. The buildings are a mixture of old classical strongholds and modern sleek designs. The women are decadently dressed, some with dress skirts far shorter than most. Al's face turns bright red as he tries not to stare. A painter stands on a bridge painting the scene of the riverboats before him. A street band plays on the corner entertaining all who pass.

"I gotta say," Ed agrees, "The streets are a lot better than the station."

The trio passes a small group of folks handing out fliers. One of the men in the group shouts, "If the Nationalists have their way, _they_ get to decide who is worthy and who is not! All are worthy in the eyes of Communism, for we are all on equal ground! Vote Communist today!"

"Huh, that's refreshing," Ed chimes, looking back over his shoulder at the group. "It's nice to hear someone _other_ than the Worker's Party yapping their mouths for a change."

"Is this the place?" Al asks as he and Roy look up at the building before them.

Ed looks down at the paper in his hand, "Yeah, the addresses match. This is it." He tucks the paper in his pocket, "Well, now or never."

They ascend the short steps and Ed rings the doorbell. A moment later, a maid answers the door, "Yes?" she inquires.

"Hi," Ed says, "We're here to see the Langs."

The maid politely smiles though the slightest tone of pretension comes through in her voice, "Frau Lang prefers to be referred to by her maiden name – von Harbou. But yes, we've been expecting you. Please, come in." She steps back, allowing the three men to enter the foyer. "I'll take your coats and hats."

"Ah!" They hear from the top of the stairs. It's Lang, he with his monocle where Fuhrer Bradley instead had an eyepatch. The uncanny resemblance between the two men makes Al's stomach knot, but he tries to behave politely nonetheless. As Lang descends the stairs, he speaks, "Edward Elric. Good to see you again," he shakes Ed's hand firmly. "And this must be your brother that you told me about. Alphonse, was it?"

Al nervously, but politely extends his hand, "Yes, pleased to meet you."

And then Roy, "Roy Mustang, pleased to meet you."

Lang shakes hands with all of them and then says, "Please, come on up. Thea and I have a pot of tea on."

As they enter the upstairs flat, Ed, Al, and Roy are amazed by its decorations. It's like being in a small museum of oddities – curios from around the world line shelves, exotic plants in pots take up quite a bit of floor space, and the farmost corner of the flat is completely decorated in oriental rugs, woodblock prints, and large comfy throw cushions.

"Nice place you got here," Edward says to Lang.

Lang chuckles, "It's absolutely Gaudí, I know. But don't let my wife hear that. Next thing you know, she'll want to buy a house in Spain."

Ed wasn't sure he followed what Lang was talking about, but his line of thought was cut short when a woman entered the room – she was about Lang's age, 40 or so, and roughly the same build. Her hair was primly permed and her lips a bright red.

"And why would a home in sunny Spain be a bad thing, dear?" she says to Lang as she comes over and gives him a peck on the cheek. "And besides – imagine the scenery. We could film something really great there."

"Yes dear," he replies.

The woman looks the young men up and down and then politely extends her hand, "Thea von Harbou, pleased to meet you."

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am," they each greet, one after the other.

"My goodness, what handsome young things you all are," she says of them. "I'm sure your girlfriends must be very proud of catches like you."

Al says, "We don't have girlfriends, ma'am."

A devious glint rises from her eyes as she smiles, "I see now. That's good to know."

Roy coughs politely, trying not to laugh.

Al inquires, "Do you work on films too, Mrs. L-, uh, Mrs. von Harbou?"

"Please," she charmingly giggles, "Call me Thea."

"Oh, okay."

"And yes," she continues, "Half of Fritzy's movies wouldn't be near as good if I didn't do the writing on them."

Lang chuckles, "What can I say? No one knows how to instill true terror in an audience quite like a woman."

"Oh, dear!" she laughs and gives him a playful pat on the shoulder. Ed, Al, and Roy on the other hand feel awkward, unsure if they should laugh along or not. Thea motions to the divans with the large throw cushions in the corner. "Please, won't you have a seat? Maria!" she calls out the door. "The Darjeeling, please!"

"Yes ma'am," the maid responds from downstairs.

As they all make their way to the corner, Ed stops and gazes at the large Oriental rug hanging on the wall – two dragons dancing. "That's a nice tapestry you got there."

Lang nods, "Though my wife is the one obsessed with all things Oriental, I couldn't help but buy it when I saw it. Though both you and I know that these pictures hardly compare to the real thing."

Ed nods.

"This dark corner doesn't do it justice, though. You should see the stitching in the morning sunlight. Oh! I know! Wait here, I'll be right back." And he walks towards the door.

"Uh, sure thing…" Ed says. As Lang exits, the maid Maria enters with a tray of cups and the teapot.

"Yes, right there," Thea motions to the coffee table in the center. Everyone takes a seat as Maria begins to pour the tea. "So," Thea asks, "Edward, was it? What brings you to our home on this fine day?"

Edward politely sips from his cup, using the brief moment to think of an answer. _I don't think I should tell her the whole truth_, he thinks to himself. _After all, if she IS part of the Thule Society, she's the last person I want to let in on-_

But before Ed can answer, suddenly a great bright light is blinding him! "Ow! Hey!" Ed closes his eyes, bright colorful spots dancing behind his eyelids. Though he can't see him, he can hear Lang chuckle.

"Sorry. I should have warned you I suppose."

"Oh, dear," Thea scolds, "Put that silly thing away. You'll blind someone."

Ed scoots to the side, out of the line of fire, while he rubs his eyes, "I think he already has. What is that thing?" While his eyes readjust, Ed tries to discern what it is that Lang has in his hands. It's a rather large, clunky metal box with a large bulb and an even larger mirrored half-sphere around it.

"It's something we're testing at the studio – a compact, portable spotlight. It'll make shooting on location a great deal easier if we can quickly and easily set up the lights."

Al smiles and says, "Forgive my saying so, but that doesn't look very compact at all."

Lang chuckles, "You should see the full-sized ones. They're monsters!"

His wife badgers, "Why did you bring that thing out anyway?"

"I wanted to show off the stitching in the tapestry. Look at it now."

Ed looks over at the tapestry again. "Oh yeah, I see it now." The edges of the dragons glitter like gold, their long whiskers especially gleaming (though much of the tapestry is still hidden from Ed's sight by the colorful spots still dancing in his eyes).

"That's nice, dear," Thea tells her husband, "Now put your toys away."

Lang flicks the switch on the light off. "Yes, dear," he complies. "It's starting to get too hot to hold onto anyway," and he makes for the door to put the spotlight back from whence it came.

"In answer to your question earlier Miss Thea," Roy continues the conversation, "Edward here helped your husband with some technical work on a movie once. Isn't that right, Ed?"

"Uh, yeah," Ed agrees, "I helped him with a robotic dragon."

"Oh?" Thea asks, lifting her teacup towards her lips, "You mean on _The Nibelungs_? Funny, I don't recall ever seeing you on set."

"It was a _very_ brief stint at the studio."

Lang reenters the room and takes the seat next to his wife, "So how's life been treating you? Been staying out of trouble, I hope?"

Ed grins, "Been trying to."

"So where are you working these days? You know my offer still stands for you to come work for me at the studio."

"Nah, we've got a pretty good setup now. Al and I are researchers at the university in Munich."

"You don't say! That's very impressive."

"And what about you?" Ed asks, "What have you been up to lately?"

"Well, right now we're in production of a film I'm calling _Woman in the Moon_. After that, we've got a great murder thriller lined up."

Thea suddenly throws up her hand, "Oh no! I almost forgot!" She sets down her teacup and stands, "I'm so sorry. I'd love to stay and chat, but I forgot I've got an interview to get to!"

Fritz looks over at her as she scurries around the room, grabbing her purse and shawl. "Was that today, dear?"

"Yes, and I'm sure they're expecting me," she responds as she wraps her shawl around her shoulders. She sighs, sounding slightly aggravated, "I was hoping you'd come with me. But I don't want to detract you from your guests."

"You could always reschedule," Fritz suggests.

The devious glint once again rises in Thea's eye. "I know. What if one of you strapping young lads accompanied me? After all, it's not right for a lady to go somewhere unescorted."

Ed nudges Al with his elbow, "Al'll go."

"I will?!" Al blurts.

Ed quickly leans in and whispers, "We need to get her out of here so we can talk to Lang. Plus, she obviously likes you. You can butter her up and maybe pull some info out of her without her knowing."

Al whispers back, "Don't you think that's a little risky?"

Ed gives him a hearty pat on the back, "Nah, just be smooth about it. Don't let her onto what we're up to."

Thea shoulders her purse, "Are you coming then?"

Al sets his teacup down on the coffee table and rises. "Yes, wait for me."

Thea calls again to the maid, "Maria – do you have my box?"

"Yes ma'am!"

Fritz calls after them, "Have fun. And Al! Be careful. Don't let her take you down any dark alleys!" and he laughs as they leave.

Ed's eyes drift from the doorway over to Lang. "No disrespect, Mr. Lang – but your wife… she's a little-"

"Flirty? I know," he finishes Ed's sentence. "It's only fair. I flirt with all the actresses at the studio." He takes a drink of his tea. "Thea doesn't mind. It's a game between the two of us. We both know the flirting is meaningless, as long as we love each other."

"Uh-huh…" Ed decides not to press it further.

"So Edward," Lang says to him, "From your letter it sounds as though you are interested to know more about that photo I showed you back in Munich."

Ed solemnly nods, "Yes sir. The one with the uranium bomb."

Lang solemnly nods in return. He sets down his cup of tea, and then reaches into his vest pocket, producing the photo. He slides it across the table. Edward picks it up and looks it over again – a group of men in lab coats holding the small round object between them. The man on the right, Karl Haushofer of the Thule Society, whom Ed had met back in Munich. On the left, who Ed could only assume to be Huskisson. When he met Huskisson, he had been wearing a mask, so it was hard to definitively say. Nonetheless, the man in this photo shared many of the same features – the short hair, a squared chin… surely this had to be him…

Ed inquires, "You never said where you got this. Or for that matter why you showed it to me in the first place."

Lang quietly says, "Like I said back then – I wanted to give you fair warning, before you got any more involved with the Thule Society."

"And your wife, Thea – is she Thule?"

Lang shakes his head, "No. She has nothing to do with them, though she is an avid follower of Helena Blavatsky's writings."

"Blavatsky?" Ed asks.

Roy adds, "I think I've heard of her. She's the one who brought the idea of Shamballa to Europe from the Orient, am I right?"

"That's right," Lang affirms. "_I myself have looked over the pages of her works a few times, and I can't decide whether I'm amused or annoyed that the Thule Society and the Nazis even work together. One of the main tenets of theosophy, as Blavatsky calls it, is _to form a nucleus of the Universal Brotherhood of Humanity, without distinction of race, creed, sex, caste or color."

Ed scoffs indignantly, "Yeah, that's sort of the exact opposite of what the Nationalists have been doing."

"My sentiments exactly," Lang agrees.

"So then tell me," Ed asks, "If your wife's not part of the Thule Society, then how is it that you knew what they were up to back in Munich?"

Lang sighs though his nose. "That's a little more complicated…"

"I'm listening," Ed says, his eyes ever stern and resolute.

As the afternoon sun begins to wane, long shafts of golden sunlight begin to filter though the windows of the cab that Thea and Al are riding in. Thea says to the driver, "Thank you again for waiting on us. I hope you weren't waiting too awfully long."

"No ma'am," the driver responds.

"So," Al asks of Thea, "Where are we going?"

"To the police station. That's where all the naughty boys go."

"Uhh, okay," Al politely tries to ignore what he hopes he's misinterpreting. After all, this woman is easily 20 years his senior. Surely she didn't have any interest in him…

"As Fritz said, we're currently writing a murder thriller. What better place to find inspiration than from real murderers."

Al sits up straight as a rush of anxiety fills him. "Wait, you don't mean that's who you're interviewing is a murderer is it?!"

"Of course," Thea says cheerily, "Don't look so upset. He'll be behind bars. It's not like we're going into his cell to talk with him."

"Yeah but still," Al squirms in his seat, trying to act calm, "It's a little creepy, don't you think?"

She gives a hearty laugh, "Oh-ho-ho! It takes more than that to scare me off! Come on now, buck up. Be a brave little soldier for me, will you?" she smiles.

Again, Al sits up straight, trying to play calm. He's faced worse situations, he thinks to himself. If he can fight off homunculi, than a murderer behind bars should be no trouble, right?

The cab arrives at the police station, and Thea and Al get out of the car. "Please, wait here for us, won't you?" she requests of the driver.

Inside, the sergeant at the desk looks up as the front door opens. "Ah! Miss von Harbou! There you are! I was starting to think you got lost."

She giggles, "Oh now Sgt. Fromm, you know I'm more capable than that."

Sgt. Fromm smells the air and then looks at the box in Thea's hands. "And what have you brought us today, Thea?"

Thea opens the box with a smile, "Apple strudel, fresh from the oven."

Another officer calls from a desk further back in the station, "Did I hear 'apple strudel'?"

"Help yourselves!" Thea cheerily chimes.

"Ah Thea," Sgt. Fromm happily says, "I do enjoy your visits." As he takes a strudel from the box, the man finally notices Al. "And who's your helper here?"

"This is Alphonse," Thea answers for him. "His brother is an acquaintance of Fritz's."

"Oh, is that so?" Fromm asks. "You like motion pictures, kid?"

Al nods, "Yeah. We just saw _The Spies_." He turns to Thea, "I thought it was really good."

"I'm glad," Thea says. "And now you'll get to tell people that you helped on this movie. We plan on calling it, 'Murderer Among Us'!"

Sgt. Fromm sets the uneaten half of his strudel on his desk, wiping his mouth clean with the back of his hand. "Right." He picks up a nightstick from off his desk, and then nods his head in the general direction of a door, "He's back this way," and he begins to lead them.

Al sets the box of strudels on the desk, but before he can follow Fromm, Thea takes a strudel, wrapping it in a napkin and tucking it away in her purse. She winks at Al, "For insurance." Al cocks his head to the side, confused, but follows her and Sgt. Fromm anyway.

They enter through a heavy wooden door – on the other side of it, a long dank hallway made of stone and concrete. At the very end of it, the small window catches the last remaining rays of sun. The right side of the hall is all stone, the left side bars upon metal bars creating the jail cells. Some cells are empty, others have a few people in them – a drunk asleep on the bench; a burly man with scar on his cheek; another scrawny man who looks like the pickpocket type.

Sgt. Fromm leads them down to the very end of the hall, to the very last cell. "This is him."

Al looks into the cage – and his blood runs cold.

"Well, well," a familiar voice utters from the other side of the bars, "Did you bring me some new friends to play with?"

Lang stares into his teacup, looking back at his own reflection. Ed and Roy wait for an answer.

"I got that photo from my wife, who got it from Haushofer."

"Karl Haushofer," Roy checks, "Of the Thule Society."

Lang nods, "That's right. We had met abroad in Japan and my wife was very fond of him. I hadn't seen him for years. And then one day… well, I had noticed that Thea had been coming home later than usual. Sometimes she stays behind at the studio to help clean up. She's motherly like that. Sometimes she even cooks for the crew. But that's aside the point…"

Ed patiently hopes that Lang won't ramble like an old man.

Lang continues, "As dishonest as it is, I had her followed, to find out where she was going in the evenings. Sure enough, she was seeing someone behind my back."

"I thought you said you didn't mind?" Ed points out.

"Flirting, no. But full-on cheating? To be honest, I was never able to prove anything. All her and Haushofer were doing was talking. You can hardly call having tea 'adultery'. But after evenings spent with him, she'd come home with all these theosophical notions tucked into her head and she'd go on and on for hours about Haushofer's theories about racial distillation and such."

"And the photo?" Ed asked. "Did she ever say anything about how she got it?"

Lang nods, "One of the theories that Haushofer was most passionate about was the theory of parallel worlds. He offered that photo as proof, but honestly it doesn't prove much of anything. Nonetheless, Haushofer was convinced that the device he's holding there came from another world, and he believed it scientifically possible to travel between these two planes of existence."

Roy asks, "Did Haushofer ever say anything about why he was so sure that the device was authentic?"

Lang shakes his head, "No. I'm afraid I never saw Haushofer during that time. I didn't want to let my wife know that I was onto her." He then chuckles, "Ironically enough, I don't think Haushofer was onto her either. I don't think he was even aware that my wife was trying to have an affair with him, as all they ever did was talk about metaphysics. Lucky for me, he's very loyal to his own wife."

Ed speaks, "So he sees an object that _supposedly_ came from another world. Did Thea ever say anything else?"

Lang nods once more, "That man you see next to Haushofer – he's the one who showed them this 'otherworldly' bomb. He claimed that by breaking down the element inside it, a massive amount of energy would be released."

Roy asks, "And did this man have a name?"

Lang sighs, "I'm afraid I don't know that. I wish I could do more to help, but that's really about all I can tell you."

Ed's face grows long.

Of all the people he could possibly meet in this world, Al never thought that he'd see this face again. _Barry the Chopper…_

"How very nice of you to actually let me have some human contact in this hellhole," the prisoner says to the officer.

"Shut it!" Sgt. Fromm orders the man. "You're gonna behave yourself or we're gonna have a problem, do you understand?"

"That's enough, sergeant," Thea politely requests. She kindly looks to the man in the cell, "Bernhard Fleischer, is it?"

"Please, call me Bernd," he smirks.

"Very well, Bernd," She reaches into her purse and pulls out a small notepad and a rather fancy-looking pen, "I have some questions for you."

"Ask away, doll."

"Hey!" Fromm shouts at him, "Show her respect!"

"It's quite all right," Thea puts a hand up to calm the policeman.

Bernd continues smirking, "You wanna know why it is I did what I did, is that it? You wanna know how it is a poor lost little lamb like me turned into such a vicious wolf? It was pretty easy, actually." His smile grows wider as he tilts his head to the side, not unlike a cat plotting the demise of a mouse, "Or maybe you wanna know how to kill someone and get away with it?" He laughs raucously. "In that case, you're talking to the wrong person! In case you haven't noticed, I've been caught! Ha ha ha!"

Al shudders a little bit. He didn't like that laugh. True – Al was bound to a suit of armor when he first met Barry the Chopper, so it's not like he had a physical body to be murdered. Nonetheless, his recollections of the man were not pleasant ones. _Still, _Al reminds himself, _This man isn't Barry the Chopper. Though it seems his life has taken a very similar path…_

"What I'd like to know," Thea continues, "Is your story. I believe that everyone has a story to tell and has a right to be heard. I'd like to tell your story."

"Oh, is that so? Put me up on the silver screen? Make a star outta me? That's awfully sweet of you. But what's in it for me? You think if enough people like the movie, they'll take me off death row?" Bernd presses sarcastically.

"I'm offering you the chance to have your side of the story heard."

"Psh!" Bernd scoffs and lays back on his bench, resting his hands behind his head. "That sounds like work. Maybe I don't feel like talking."

"Oh come now," Thea says, her voice somewhere between silky and sharp. "You and I share a very similar trait."

"Oh?"

"We're boastful. We want all of the world to know of our achievements. We want the world to know the great feats we have accomplished. And I can offer you immortality."

"I highly doubt that."

"Though your body will no doubt pass, your deeds will live on in infamy, on film. Imagine it – decades, perhaps even centuries of people recalling that which you've done."

Sgt. Fromm speaks up, "Uh, Miss von Harbou, I'm not sure that's such a good ide-"

She again raises her hand for silence.

Bernd stares at her for a while, contemplating her words. Then he speaks with a shrug og the shoulders, "That's nice and all, but maybe I'm not ready for the story to be over." His eyes drift slowly over to Alphonse, who feels his heart leap into his throat. Bernd's lips part in a sly smile, his face partly-hidden in the shadows of the ever-darkening room, "Maybe I've still got a few plots to work out – a few more boys to kill."

Sgt. Fromm strikes the bars with his nightstick. "That's enough out of you!" He turns to Thea, "Miss von Harbou, I really suggest that we end this interview."

"Hmph." In a huff, she passes off her notepad and pen to Al unexpectedly, hitting him a little roughly in the chest. He takes the items from her, putting them into his pocket for safekeeping. "Very well," she says. She then reaches into her purse, pulling out the wrapped apple strudel. "I hope, Mr. Fleischer, that you'll accept this small token of appreciation. Perhaps someday soon we can meet again and you'll be in a better mood."

She stretches her arm through the bars, the treat in her hand. The sergeant quickly cries, "Don't reach through the bars!"

And like a shot, Bernd has her by the wrist!

Al and the sergeant jump towards the bars to pull Thea back, but Bernd has already released her, he now holding the strudel. "Thanks, doll," he says, and saunters back to his bench, flopping down with his treat.

"Are you all right?" Al asks.

Thea rubs her wrist, "Yes, I'm fine. Sergeant, if you'd please."

"Right," and Sgt. Fromm ushers the visitors from the hall back to the exit.

But as they leave, Al can't help but feel as though he's being watched. He looks back over his shoulder, and sure enough, Bernd is at the bars of his cage, his eyes boring into Al's back.

The sergeant shuts the door behind them.

"So now what?" Roy asks.

"I really am sorry," Lang apologizes. "I wish I could be of more help. But may I ask why it is that you're so interested in this man and his bomb?"

Ed glares sternly at Lang. "It doesn't matter whether or not this bomb came from another world. If it really has the kind of power that Haushofer claims it has, then we have to get it out of the hands of the Thule Society and the Nationalists. No one should have that kind of power."

Lang stirs his tea quietly, the air in the flat thick but calm. Then he says, "You know, from the first moment I met you, it seems like all you want to do is dig yourself into trouble. If this matter really concerns you, why not tell the government? Let them deal with it. You're a private citizen – you shouldn't be sticking your own neck out in business like this."

"Trust me," Ed tells him, "I've learned that I can't just sit back and act like the world has nothing to do with me. Sometimes inaction is the worst crime of all."

All three men are quiet. Then the sound of the front door opening downstairs reaches their ears. "Dear!" Thea's voice calls from the foyer, "We're back!"

Later in the foyer, Fritz and Thea bid farewell to their guests. "It was so nice meeting you all," Thea says, "It's a shame you couldn't stay any longer."

Roy puts his hat on his head, "It is rather late though. We should be going."

She puts on a big smile, "Please, feel free to drop by anytime."

Ed nods as he puts on his hat, "Thank you for your hospitality."

Lang says to them, "I wish you well on your quest, gentlemen."

And with that, the three of them leave.

They walk quietly down the nighttime street, the lamps lining the sidewalk providing a warm yellow glow. As they turn a corner, heading back to their hotel, Al asks, "So, what did you find out?"

Ed sighs, grumbling, "Not a lot. Though Lang was nice enough to give me the picture." Ed hands it off to Al, "See for yourself."

Al takes the photo and looks it over. "So wait, which one is Huskisson?"

"You don't recognize him?" Ed asks. "He's the fella on the left."

"Are you sure he's not this guy in the center?" Al asks. "I thought Huskisson had long hair?"

"Augh," Ed grumbles, hand on head "We met the guy once, eight years ago. And he was wearing a mask!" He puts his hands in his pockets, "Heck if I remember _exactly _what he looks like." He questions, "What about you? Did you find out anything?"

Al bursts, "You won't BELIEVE who I saw! Barry the Chopper!"

Ed nearly trips over himself, "What?!"

Roy is confused, "Who?"

Ed continues, "Don't tell me he's here, too!"

"Well, no, not really," Al corrects himself, "I mean, it's not _really _Barry the Chopper – just this world's version."

"Oh?" Roy asks, "Someone you knew from the other side?"

Ed rubs his head, "Right. I keep forgetting there are a few stories we've yet to tell you. Though maybe you shouldn't hear it before bed. It'll give you nightmares!" Ed quips.

"Please, I'm not a child," Roy retorts.

"How long before we reach the hotel?" Al asks.

"Not too far now," Ed says, "It's just around this next corner, I think."

Al, still clinging to the photo, puts it in his pocket, "Good. It's been a long day—Uh oh!" Al pulls something from out of his pocket. "Thea's notepad! And her pen! I forgot to give these back to her!" Al turns on his heel, "I'll be right back!"

"Don't worry about it, Al," Ed tells him. "Just hang onto it until the morning."

Al shoves the notepad back in his pocket, "We're not that far from the Langs' house. It'll just take me a minute." And he sprints off.

"Al!" Ed calls after him.

"You want to wait here for him?" Roy asks.

Ed huffs, "Nah, he's a big kid. He can find his own way to the hotel. Come on, let's go. I'm exhausted."

Al sprints down the street, turning the corner to make his way back to Lang's house, when BAM!

Everything goes dark.

A good twenty minutes pass, and Al has yet to return. Ed sits on the edge of his bed, nervously staring at the door. _What's taking him so long? _he wonders. He looks over at the little rotary phone sitting on the desk. And after a long while of thinking, he finally rises and walks over to it, cranking it up.

RING!

Fritz looks over to the phone on the wall. "Now who on earth could that be at this late hour?"

Ed waits with bated breath. "Hello?" Lang's voice calls from the other side.

"Hey, Fritz, it's me, Edward."

Lang chuckles, "Miss me already?"

"Listen – is Al there?"

"Al? Your brother? No." Ed's eyes grow wide. "Is something wrong?"

Blackness.

And then the world comes steadily into view, fuzzy at first, and then slowly, clearer and clearer.

Al looks around him. _Where am I?_ His head is throbbing. His hands are ice cold, hanging above his head. He looks up – they're chained to a wide, large pipe above him. Why?

He looks around – the room is small and dank, the only light a deep orange glow arising from a mass of coals inside a large boiler, its door wide open, warming and lighting the room. The wall next to it is lined with a variety of tools – hammers, saws, wrenches, screwdrivers, the like.

SCHINK! SCHINK!

Al draws in a sharp breath, hearing the sound of metal on metal – the sharpening of a blade.

"You know, I can't decide," that same familiar voice utters from the shadows, "Do I wanna saw you in half? Or do I wanna bash your head in with a hammer?" In the darkness stands Bernd Fleischer. He slowly turns around, a crazed smile growing long from cheek to cheek, "Or do I want to get creative and shove a lead pipe down your throat?! There are so many choices, I just can't choose!"

Al takes a long, slow, deep breath, calming himself. "How did you get out?"

Bernd proudly holds up a small silver something, "It's pretty easy when you've got the key. Thanks to Miss Strudel Lady, I was able to get the guard to come close enough for me to swipe it!"

_When the sergeant and I jumped to save Thea, _Al recalls.

Bernd saunters closer to Al, the blade of his long knife glinting in the orange firelight, "I really should be thanking her. Not only did she provide my means of escape, but she renewed my vigor for life. She brought back the inspiration to take life!"

Bernd juts the tip of the blade under Al's chin, forcing him to lift his head lest he be cut.

"I've got to say," Bernd murmurs, "You're a little bit older than my usual type. But you've got such a pretty face, I just couldn't resist! I'm gonna enjoy making you cry."

But the next thing he knows, Bernd gets a swift knee to the gut, followed by a kick to the head! He falls over backwards, his knife flying far from him and landing somewhere in the shadows. Fast as a rabbit, Al jumps upwards and pulls himself up onto the large piping above his head. As quick as he can, he rushes towards the wall, pushing himself along the pipe to where it connects at a T-joint. He begins kicking furiously at the joint, trying to dislodge the pipe.

Bernd in the meanwhile is sitting back up, rubbing his jaw. "Ahh! Dammit! So! That's how you wanna play, is it?" Bernd gets back up to his feet and strides over to the tools on the wall, picking up a particularly large sledgehammer. He shoulders it and marches up towards Al who gasps. Bernd shouts, "You wanna see who hits the hardest?!" He swings the hammer!

Al slides backwards, the hammer landing with such great force that it bursts a hole in the wide pipe. A great column of steam forces its way out with a burning hiss. Bernd jerks back on the hammer, nearly toppling backwards from its weight.

Grabbing onto the chains around his wrists, Al jumps off the other side of the pipe and swings himself around, kicking Bernd in the jaw! Bernd falls backwards again, the hammer thudding heavily onto the ground at his feet.

The chains dig deeply into Al's skin, but he just grits his teeth, knowing he has no time to focus on the pain. He tries to run as best he can back towards the T-joint, a little hard to do as the chain keeps catching on every bump and connection in the piping.

Bernd starts laughing maniacally as he rises, "You know, normally I like a nice submissive prey. But I've got to say – you're feistiness is entertaining. It really gets the blood running, y'know?"

Al is back near the T-joint, this time pulling the chain down on the weakened part of the pipe where Bernd hit it.

Bernd goes over to the boiler, hands on the wheel near the pressure gauge. "What do you say we turn up the heat?" He spins the wheel rapidly, and the coals of the boiler brighten. A massive amount of steam screams out of the bust in the pipe, the heat forcing Al to back away. Steam fills the room, and Al has to shake his head to clear his eyes, trying to see past the screen of white.

Suddenly Bernd appears, knife in hand! Al backs away, leaping backwards in great strides, Bernd slashing back and forth! Al hits brick, his back to the wall! And Bernd stops. He stares Al down, each waiting for the other to make a move. Every time Al looks like he's going to move, left or right, Bernd also shifts his weight that way, tossing the knife from hand to hand, chuckling gleefully.

"Left? Or right? What's it gonna be? Doesn't really matter does it? You're stuck to that pipe. Still, watching you think is fun. You're a lot more fun than all those little kids I've torn apart."

"Shut up!" Al shouts, "I don't want to hear it!"

"Oh I see now," Bernd says with a slinky voice, "You've got a soft spot for kids. Then you probably don't want to hear about the little girl whose brains I bashed in. I never knew so much red could come out of such a little thing."

"I said shut up!" Al lashes out, kicking at his assailant, but Bernd retaliates and slashes Al across his calf. Al pulls his leg back wincing.

Bernd cackles, "I'm gonna enjoy having your head on my wall as a trophy!" He barrels towards Al, knife held high!

But then suddenly, Bernd is being dragged backwards by his collar, and then thrown to the floor!

"Brother!"

"Roy!" Ed shouts, "Get Al down! I'll take care of this guy!"

Through the steam and smoke, Roy appears, rushing up to Al. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just get me down!"

Roy hurriedly looks over the chains while in the background Ed and Bernd fight, the steam filtering out through the open door of the boiler room.

Bernd swings his arms wildly back and forth, slicing upwards and downwards, Ed dodging. He winds back his metal arm and with great force, lays one right on Bernd's nose!

Roy shouts, "Is there a key?!"

"I don't know!" Al cries back, "See if there are bolt cutters over there!"

"Over where?!"

"There!"

Roy runs through the steam towards the tools, trying to avoid the brawl. He gasps and then quickly ducks as the knife comes flying over his head, barely missing him! It flies straight at Ed's face – but Ed puts up his automail arm and deflects it. His sight blocked not for but a moment, Bernd leaps on top of him and tackles him to the ground.

Roy makes it to the tools and fans his hands back and forth, trying to clear the smoke so he can see.

Bernd pummels Ed across the face, both men's noses bleeding. Bernd screeches with crazed laughter, enjoying himself immensely. But then Edward grabs him by the collar, and pulling himself upwards, Ed forcefully headbutts Bernd, stopping him momentarily. A moment is all Ed needs to throw him off and get back to his feet.

Roy returns to Al's side. "No bolt cutters, but I found a saw! We can saw through the pipes!"

"Do you know how long that might take?!" Al shouts.

Roy is already sawing back and forth on the piping, "Let's hope your brother can hold him off!"

Ed is on his feet – but having thrown Bernd halfway across the room, he's lost him in the fog again. "Show yourself!" Ed bellows.

Suddenly the door to the boiler closes and the orange lighting disappears. Bernd's cackling echoes across the walls. Ed stands at the ready, fists raised and ready to strike…

The hissing of steam still fills his ears, but just beyond that, he can hear footsteps, from which direction, he can't tell. Cautiously, Ed moves forwards, hoping to either avoid Bernd or get close enough to punch him again.

"Brother! Behind you!"

Bernd cries out with a bloodcurdling scream, descending on Ed – but right before he gets within arm's reach, a blinding light beams into the room, hitting both Bernd and Ed right in the eyes. "Augh! What the hell?!" Bernd shrieks.

"There he is!" Thea's voice calls.

Silhouettes of officers fill the room, tackling Bernd to the ground, he wriggling and screeching, "Let me go! Let me go!" They clap him handcuffs, and as they do, they light goes out.

At the door stands Fritz with his portable spotlight. "See? I told you this thing would come in handy," he says to Thea.

Thea goes over to Al where a couple of officers assist Roy in getting him down. "Are you all right?"

Al smiles at her, "Yeah. Thanks."

Fritz goes over to Edward. Ed asks, "How'd you find us?"

Fritz answers, "When you said that Al didn't make it back to the hotel, we had a feeling something was wrong, so we phoned the police."

Thea adds, "That's when Sergeant Fromm told us to stay indoors – because _he_ had escaped," she points to Bernd as the officers drag him out, all the police exiting.

"Neither of us could resist the temptation of adventure though," Fritz says. "Also, if Al was nearby, we were closer than the police were."

Ed smiles, "Thanks. But you really put yourselves in danger coming out here."

Fritz gives a hardy grin, "Don't think so little of me, boy. I was once a soldier, you know. I've been through worse than a madman with a pocketknife."

Al, now released from his bonds, rubs his sore wrists. Thea puts a hand on his shoulder. "Oh you poor thing!" she says, "We'll take you back to the flat and get some iodine for that."

"No, that's all right," Al says.

"I insist! It's no trouble at all."

"Oh, hey," Al reaches into his pocket and pulls out the notepad and pen, "Before I forget."

"Oh, my notepad."

Ed interjects, "I _told_ you you should have waited until morning to take it to her."

"Don't tell me that's why you were out by yourself," Thea says as Al hands her the notepad. As he does, something falls off of its back – the photo. "What's this?" Thea looks down. "Where did you get that?"

"I gave it to them," Fritz confesses.

She throws him an angry glare, "Who said you could give my mementos away to strangers? That's one of the only photos I have of our old friend Karl!"

"I believe these boys have more use for it than you do by tucking it away in a scrapbook."

"What would they possibly need with a photo of him?"

Ed pipes up, "It's not Haushofer we're interested in."

Thea looks over at him.

Ed continues, "We're looking for a man named Huskisson."

Thea cocks her head to the side, "Huskisson?"

"He's also in this picture, or so we think. He's the one who made that bomb you see there."

"You mean Henrikson?" Thea corrects.

All three of them gasp. Al quickly questions, "So you do know him!"

"I met him once before when Karl and I were having tea. He seemed like a brilliant fellow, but honestly, he was a little too, how should I say, eccentric for me. It was rather off-putting."

"Please," Ed presses, "Do you know where he is now?"

"I can't say that I do."

Ed sighs. Al on the other hand is excited, "But still! This is good! We haven't been able to find him because we've been using the wrong name! He changed it from Huskisson to Henrikson! This means we have a new lead!"

Thea finally picks the photo up off the ground. Ed asks, "Thea, please, may we keep that?"

"Well," she ponders, "I don't know."

"Please," Roy also implores, "It's very important that we do."

She thinks for a little bit, and once more, that devious glint arises in her eyes. "Very well. On one condition…"

The boys leave the boiler room, photo in hand, Al wiping his lips across the back of his hand. "The things I do for you guys."

Roy tries to hide his amusement, but he can't contain a smile.

A huge grin is plastered on Ed's face, "Way to take one for the team, Al!"

**To Be Continued**


	7. Black Sun

The crowd lazily moves through the city streets of the marketplace, old ladies with their grandchildren picking through the fruit lain out on the carts, searching for that perfect apple, or piling potatoes into their handbaskets. Merchants shout out their specials, trying to get customers to come and peruse their wares, even if everyone is saving the money they have for food.

Roy walks along, buying some food for the week ahead. He's lost in his own little world of thought, when a man approaches him.

"Roy Mustang?" the man questions.

Roy looks up from the pile of tomatoes that he's been looking at and turns his attention towards the man. "Yes?"

The man extends his hand, "Frederick Williams. Pleased to meet you."

Roy returns the handshake, mentally running the name through his head, wondering if he's met this gentleman somewhere before and has simply forgotten – but the handshake tells all – the Masonic handshake.

Roy nods solemnly. "What news do you bring?"

The year is 1930.

The four men sit around the table in the dining room, Ed and Al listening to the stranger that Roy has brought home.

Ed asks, "So you've been spying on the Thule Society this whole time?"

Al adds, "Isn't that risky? What if they find out you're a Mason?"

The man, Williams, responds, "I've been playing things fairly close to the vest. As far as they know, I'm just another member of their ranks. I feel they don't suspect."

"And Huskisson?" Ed queries.

Williams continues, "Yes. This Huskisson, or Henrikson as he's been calling himself – I haven't actually seen him. But I've heard whispers. It's all been very hush-hush, mind you. I do know for a fact, however, that the Thule Society has been pumping a great deal of money and resources into Wewelsburg castle up north." He chuckles, "There's a benefit to being the club treasurer as it were."

Roy silently takes it all in, rolling the info over in his head. "Wewelsburg. That's in Büren, yes?"

Williams nods, "We can house you at the local lodge if need be. But I warn you – if you decide to take the Thule Society head-on, you're playing with fire."

Ed says, "Trust me, I know."

Roy says, "It's not going to be easy. But we can't afford to sit around. The longer we wait, the closer the Thule Society gets to completing their plans." He looks to Ed and Al. "Pack your bags, fellas. We're going to Büren."

No time is wasted, and by the end of that evening, Edward, Al, and Roy have been escorted to the small hamlet of Büren, courtesy of Mr. Williams and his automobile. The sun kneels in the west, its golden sunlight bouncing off the orangey-brown rooftops. Not far beyond the town, sprawling woods and hills stretch out in all directions. And not too far still rises a grand medieval castle, peering dauntingly over the treetops to the town below.

The car putters to a stop in front of a rather plain-looking building, its white façade and brown tiled roof blending in with the rest of the town. The only thing different about it is the tiniest of indicators – nestled under an awning overstretching the entrance, above the doorframe is a small engraving of the Square & Compass.

Williams turns off the engine, and the doors of the car open. Ed steps out, looking the building over.

"So this is the lodge?"

"Nice and quiet, isn't it?" Williams chimes as he unties the luggage from the roof of the vehicle. "The city lodges are too noisy for my opinion. What good's a secret club if you advertise?"

Al shuts the car door behind him. "Do you need any help with those, Mr. Williams?"

"Thanks," Williams hands him one of the bags.

Roy approaches the door of the lodge and knocks.

The inside of the lodge is as modest as its outside, plain and unassuming. An elderly gentleman hobbles up to the trio, a cane helping him along. "You're from the Frankfurt lodge, yes?" he asks through bushy whiskers.

Roy nods and extends his hand, "Yes. Roy Mustang, pleased to meet you."

The old man returns the handshake, "Frederick Williams, head of the lodge."

Al points to fellow next to him, "Wait, I thought he was Frederick Williams?"

The younger man chuckles, "Junior. This is my father."

"Oh…"

The old man motions his head towards a nearby staircase. "Your rooms are up that way. Go ahead and make yourselves comfortable. Fred, ring up the Brothers and tell them I've called a meeting."

"Yes sir," his son complies, and walks towards the small rotary phone hanging on the wall.

The sun disappears from the sky, and the tiniest silver sliver of a moon peaks out from behind a mass of grey clouds lazily drifting through the sky. The interior of the lodge, still old-fashioned in its ways, is lit with candle lamps. Other Brothers have arrived, pleasantries are exchanged, and slowly but surely the meeting room fills up.

All sit around a table, an ancient wrought-iron chandelier casting a glow from above. Williams Sr. quietly knocks a gavel onto the tabletop for silence and order.

"Now then," he begins, "As I'm sure you're all well aware, the Thule Society has been trying to harness the powers of the ancient ways for their own personal gain."

Nods and murmurs of agreement arise from the brothers.

The lodge master continues, "Brother Elric," he says, motioning to Edward, "informed us a few years ago of their plans to use such power for military purposes. My son reports that the Thule Society has moved much of their time and money out of Munich and into Wewelsburg castle, placing much trust in a man named Henrikson. When he was last seen, Henrikson had in his possession a bomb of great magnitude. Now – it is unknown whether or not that bomb is currently in the halls of Wewelsburg. Nonetheless, it's clear that the Thulers are fortifying. What we must do now is decide what course of action to take."

Roy quietly raises his hand.

The lodge master points his gavel at him, "Brother Mustang."

"If the Thule Society is dedicating a great amount of money and resources to this castle, no doubt they'd want to protect their investment. It's highly likely that they have it well-guarded by a private militia."

Lodge Master Williams nods. "Indeed."

"Sir?" Edward pipes up.

Again, the lodge master motions his gavel, "Brother Elric."

"What we should do is scout the castle – find out just what kind of security they have posted around the place. That, and figure out both the lay of the land and the castle so we know best how to get in."

A few members shift uneasily in their seats.

Williams Jr. spurts, "You really want to infiltrate the castle?"

His father knocks the gavel on the table, "You speak out of turn."

"Sorry," the son twiddles his thumbs.

The master continues, "Though he does make a point. It'd be foolish for us to try to go in on our own."

Again Roy raises his hand.

The lodge master asks, "What do you recommend?"

Roy continues, "True, we're not a militant organization. But what we lack in weapons, we make up for in influence."

The master lowly hums as he ponders, twirling his gavel twixt his fingers, "Get the police involved, you mean?"

Mustang nods, "It's no secret that in the past both the Thule Society and the Worker's Party with whom they collude have tried to overthrow the government – and clearly that's what they're planning on doing now. What we need to do is let military know. Get them to orchestrate a raid on the castle and take down Thule for us."

Ed, annoyed, pounds a fist on the table, "The military? Are you kidding me? Why, so they can take the bomb for themselves? That's just as bad if not worse!"

"Brother Elric," the master scolds, "You speak out of turn."

Al gently tugs on his brother's sleeve, whispering, "Ed, calm down."

Mustang asks, "Master Williams – who here in this lodge is either in the military or on the police force?"

The master motions his head towards one man at a time, "Obers there is a captain. Kicher is retired military. Acker is on the police force. And both Kohler and Metz are on the city council. I'm sure we'll require their help as well."

Roy asks, "Brother Obers – can I count on you to retrieve the bomb, and not let it fall into the hands of the military?"

"Of course," the man nods.

Roy looks resolutely at the headmaster - "How soon can we move out?"

Later that evening, Ed is lying on the bottom level of a bunk bed, staring up at the mattress suspended above him.

Al, laying in the top bunk says, "I know that sound."

"What sound?"

"The silent sound of you brooding." He pokes his head over the edge and looks down at Ed. "You don't like Roy's plan, do you?"

"Of course I don't!" Ed squirms on his mattress like an antsy child. "You know I don't like sitting on my hands just _waiting _for things to happen. You heard the Brothers – an inquiry from the city council could takes weeks or even months! By then, Huskisson will get away!"

"But that's only if we leave it to the city council. Brother Obers seemed pretty confident he could get the military to mobilize and raid the castle by the end of the week."

"Still," Ed grumbles, "That's too long. We've already wasted seven years on this hunt, and I'm not about to let him get away now!" Ed sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and stands.

"What are you planning?" Al asks with a bit of panic in his voice.

Ed pulls his overcoat off the back of a chair and pulls it onto himself. "What do you think? I'm going to go scout the castle."

Al waves his hands nervously, "But you heard the headmaster! We'd be crazy to go in on our own!"

Ed gives that big old grin of his, "That's never stopped us before."

"It's different this time, Ed!" Al snaps a bit angrily. "We don't have our alchemy anymore! How do you expect to fight all those soldiers?"

Ed makes his way to the window, opening it up, "We don't have to fight them. We just have to slip in, get the bomb, and slip back out."

"Who's 'we'?! I never said I was going!"

Ed looks over his shoulder, that same grin on his face, "Come on, Al. Like you really wanna miss out on this?" And with that, Ed hops out the window!

"Ed!" Al calls after him, he himself hopping down from his bunk. He quickly grabs his own coat from off a hook on the back of the door. "Wait for me!"

The landscape is virtually black, barely any moonlight visible through the cover of clouds. The castle looms at the top of the hill, its large round towers staring down to the valley below. Ed and Al make their way silently through the brush, trying to rustle as little as possible the grass and leaves around them.

They come to the edge of the tree line, in front of them a short stone wall. A large clearing with a small garden of some kind sits between them and the castle. The garden has raised vegetable beds, strangely quaint in comparison to the dark eerie stoneface behind it. To their left, the short stone wall rises up an incline towards a bridge that crosses over a dried up moat, the large arches of the bridge twice a man's height. To their right, a domineering, huge tower, small shadows moving along its top – sentries to be sure.

The brothers, crouched low, hug up against the short wall, just barely peeking over its top. Ed stares quietly at the castle, his eyes surveying every inch of stone.

"Brother," Al whispers, "We shouldn't be here. Let's go back to the lodge…"

"Shh!" Ed urges, "You want them to hear us?"

Ed continues scanning the castle walls, looking for something, anything, some weakness in the wall in order to get through…

He points, lowly whispering, "There. Do you see that?"

Al follows Ed's line of sight. At the very bottom of the tower, hidden in the shadows are a couple of wooden doors, side by side. Al squints his eyes, peering into the darkness. He can make out a form.

He whispers, "Yeah, but there's a guard there."

"Yeah," Ed says slyly, "**_A_** guard. One guy is easy enough to take out."

"And what happens when the others hear us knocking him out? Or someone comes along and sees him laying on the ground?"

"You worry too much."

"No I don't! I-"

"Hey!" a voice from the top of the tower calls. Suddenly a large light swings around, beaming down onto the short wall below.

Ed and Al quickly duck down.

The voice calls, "Who's there?"

Al can feel his heart throbbing in his chest. Ed clenches his fist, ready to fight. They can both hear men conversing.

"I thought I heard something. Go check it out."

The sound of heavy boots crunches through the leaves, making their way closer to them. Ed silently moves his hands about, gesturing for Al to move. On hands and knees, they both quickly scramble towards the bridge.

The soldier rounds the corner, his rifle at the ready. He can hear shuffling, but he can't see for the lack of moonlight – and the spotlight from the tower is casting an even darker and longer shadow as it hits up against the wall. Cautiously, he creeps along, following the sound, hoping perhaps it's just a deer or maybe a rabbit.

Suddenly, the end of his rifle is being forced upward and being yanked forward, he losing his grip on the trigger, unable to fire. And before he can even figure out what's going on, the guard gets a shattering punch to his jaw.

Ed holds the rifle, watching the guard fall at his feet. "Come on!" He hisses, trying to whisper but the urgency seeping through. "Around the other side!" he says while he removes the guard's helmet, handing it to his brother. "Under the bridge!" Now standing, the tall incline of the wall covering them, Ed and Al dash as quick as they can towards the base of the bridge. While running, Al puts the helmet on for protection, Ed still carrying the rifle.

They can hear more sentries on the bridge above them: "What was that?! Did you hear that?!" The light atop the tower is swinging back and forth, scanning the woods.

Ed and Al duck into the dark cover of the arches of the bridge, their backs to the wall, footsteps tramping quickly on the stones above. "Stay close," Ed says.

They tear across the clearing, keeping ever close to the castle's wall. But it's not long before the soldiers who were previously on the bridge have arrived at the dry moat bed. "Halt!"

POW! They begin firing!

"Go, Al!" Ed shouts. He whips around, ducking behind one of the raised vegetable beds for cover, and he fires at the soldiers.

Al, so close to the wall, cannot be seen by the sentries atop the tower. But Ed, in his current position, can. The spotlight swings across the bridge and fixes squarely on him. He gasps, hearing, "Fire!" He jumps to the left, dodging a hail of bullets.

Al makes it to the wooden doors. He tries the first knob: it's locked! He grabs ahold of the second door handle and shakes it – it's also locked! He starts kicking at the door, trying to break it down.

Edward, rifle still in hand, continues running as a volley of rifles fires at his heels. He barrels towards the soldiers beneath the bridge. They stop running so they can get a steady shot at their incoming enemy, he now easily seen under the spotlight that follows his every move. But the next that they know, he jumps right at them, the spotlight now blinding them! POW! The volley of bullets hits them in their chests!

"Cease fire you idiots!" a voice from the tower top cries, realizing what's been done.

Ed tucks and rolls back under the dark cover of the bridge, dust and dirt being kicked up, small pebbles clinging to exposed skin and getting caught in his pockets. He grinds to a halt, getting himself upright, trying to reorient himself to his surroundings. He can see Al in the distance, just a silhouette, kicking at one of the doors.

_I have to get over there! _Ed frantically thinks. The large spotlight still beams down harshly, a stark yellowish-white cascading through the arches. Ed tiptoes on the edge of the darkness, trying to stay out of the light. But he needs to get back to Al. Ed once again puts his back to the wall, and cautiously slides his way along towards the doors at the base of the tower. He gets not but the toes of his left shoe out into the light before the firing starts up again, a sharp metallic sound ringing out.

He pulls himself quickly back into the darkness. _Dammit!_ he thinks. _They better not have screwed up my automail. _He looks back across the clearing. _Wait a minute! Where's Al?!_

The door has burst open and Al now finds himself tumbling down a staircase, unable to stop the momentum of his fall. The stone steps scrape his skin, knocking his elbows and shins before he ultimately hits bottom, his cheeks scraping against the hard sandstone flooring. He coughs, the wind knocked out of him, and he lifts himself up on sore, shaky, skinned palms. "Ow…" he groans as he sits up, "Glad I'm wearing a helmet…"

Click-click!

He gasps and looks up to see a handgun pointed at him. Standing over him is a tall man with long brown hair and a squared chin with a scraggily goatee growing on it. He wears a long white lab coat covered in various stains – oil, powders, who knows what else. His narrow eyes get even narrower as he glares, disgusted, at the young man before him.

"Who are you?! What are you doing in my lab?!"

Al reaches for the sky, "Don't shoot! I'm unarmed!"

"HA!" The man laughs sarcastically, "That just means it's easier to kill you."

Al scrambles, "I-I'm your new lab assistant! Heh-heh!" he laughs nervously. "The Thule Society sent me!"

The man momentarily relaxes, aiming his gun at the ceiling instead. "What? I never ordered an assistant." He immediately points the gun back at Al's head – "And besides! What would you know about my work anyway? You're useless!"

"Trust me," Al says firmly, a suddenly stillness to his voice, "I know a lot more than you think."

The man tilts his head to the side a little, like a bird observing its prey. He slowly asks, "Your voice – it sounds familiar. Have we met before?"

Al is silent, wondering the best course of action to take – the truth, or a lie? "…My name is Alphonse Elric. We met a long time ago, at your castle in the ocean of the southwest of Amestris."

The man gasps loudly, every muscle in his body tensing up. "Wh-what?! You're lying! How do you know about such things?!"

Al slowly tries to stand, but the man waves his gun at him.

"Stay down, you! Answer me!"

Al, on his knees, tries to remain calm, knowing that riling him up would only make things worse. "You invited my brother and I to come see your uranium bomb. I was the tall one in the suit of armor…"

The man quiets down, and though his hand still trembles, his jaw is firmly clenched, a fire in his eyes and in his voice when he finally speaks. "So. I see I'm not the _only_ one to traverse the Gate. So, tell me – who did you try to bring back from the dead that you were swallowed alive by the Darkness?"

Al calmly responds, "That's a long story. And that's not why I'm here. You're Huskisson, aren't you?"

The man's eyes flit to the ceiling momentarily, as if he's trying to grasp something with his vision. "Huski… Ahahaha!" He breaks out laughing. "It would seem I didn't recover all of my memory as thoroughly as I had thought!"

Al queries, "What do you mean?"

Huskisson slowly moves the hammer of the pistol into safe mode, using his thumb to keep it from releasing and firing. Still, he keeps the mouth of the barrel pointed at Alphonse. "When I first arrived in this world, I spent the first few days in a coma. They found me lying on a beach in a land they call Greece. Lucky for me, the man who found me was a wealthy philanthropist who was more than happy to pay my bills. When I woke up, I was amnesic at first, only able to recall a few things – a castle, strange black faces with red eyes, and evil black hands clawing at me."

Al listens quietly, taking in everything Huskisson says.

The man chuckles some more, "Why, I couldn't even remember my own name! But there was one thing I could remember more clearly than anything else – The Gate. I knew that I wasn't from this world, and I knew that there was a Gate that was responsible for bringing me here. The doctors thought it was simply the shock of whatever had sent me into the coma – that I was having delusions. But my benefactor, Haushofer – he believed me."

Al narrows his eyes knowingly, "Haushofer. So you do know him?"

Huskisson continues, "That's right. He introduced me to his friends at the Thule Society, and they ate up everything I told them! They were so _eager_ to hear about a land filled with magic, where alchemy rules and the physical world can be controlled with mere thought and a few chalk circles. Such petty fools – but with deep pockets."

Huskisson side-steps, revealing that which is behind him, that which Al had really yet to see: the room is large and round, a high ceiling above, windows lining the top of the room. On the walls are large, long tapestries of various archaic symbols. In the center of the room sits a large round pit, its circumference lined with a large metal working, a ring of some kind, cobbled together, with electrical wires of varying colors running along its course. Spreading out from this center pit are more large, heavy cables and wires, stretching out to the pillars of the room and running up the walls to the ceiling – and in the dead-center of the ceiling is a large metal plate, an antenna of some kind protruding down from it.

"What is all this?" Al asks.

Huskisson chortles, "You mean to tell me a great scientist like yourself can't recognize this? It's a wormhole generator!"

"A what now?"

"A means of bending both space and time to my will, a way to open the Gate using physics and chemistry, rather than alchemy!"

Al gasps, finally rising to his feet, "You want to reopen the Gate?! You can't do that!"

"Hmph! And why not?"

"Don't you understand?" Al pleads, "The Thule Society only wants you to open the Gate so that they can get weapons for war! Making weapons is what got you into this mess in the first place! Why would you want to continue that?"

Huskisson lets out another long cackle, "You're very short-sighted, aren't you? You think that after being hurled through that hellhole that I wouldn't have learned my lesson? I'm not letting the Thule Society use me – I'm using _them_!"

Al stops, confused, and curious…

Roy knocks on the door of the bedroom. "Ed? Al? You awake?"

He hears no response from the other side.

He hums, "Huh. They must be asleep already… Wait…" He can see light coming through the crack at the bottom of the door. If they're asleep, then why are the lights still on?

He turns the door handle, "Ed? Al?" As he enters, he looks around – neither of the Elrics are there. And the window is wide open.

Roy growls in his throat, "Damn it, Edward." Quickly, he rushes for the stairs.

Ed clutches the rifle to his chest, thinking calmly, calculating. _All right. I can't go left; they'll shoot me. But I can't stay here for long because I'm sure they're going to send in people from the right to get me. _He gently peers out from the right side of the bridge, looking out to the woods. _I could always run downhill. They wouldn't be able to hit me for all the trees. _

He looks back to his left. _But still. I've got to get in there to Al. If I get anywhere near that tower, they're gonna see me. _He raises his eyes towards the top of the tower, unable to see it for the bridge is blocking his view. Still, he thinks, _As long as I can sneak away quietly, maybe they won't even realize I'm gone. They'll keep the light on the bridge, and then under the cover of darkness, I can get to the tower._

Ed cautiously begins to slide to his right, doing what he can to remain silent, the pebbles of the dry moat gently sliding and grinding quietly beneath his boots.

Staying close to the bridge lest the tower sentries spot him on its other side, Ed carefully inches his way closer and closer to the woods.

"What do you mean," Al asks Huskisson, "that you're using the Thule Society?"

Huskisson finally holsters his handgun. He turns slightly towards the inner circle of the room and motions his hand, "Come here. I'll show you," and then he begins walking towards the other end of the room.

Al is unsure if he should follow, but curiosity gets the better of him, and he goes along.

At the other end of the room is a large control panel, knobs and buttons and dials and levers and all manner of things here and there, many of the panels still exposed with wires and circuits visible, tool strewn about on a nearby workbench. On the other side of the control panel is a door leading to a long winding staircase.

Huskisson puts a key into one panel, and with a heave, lifts it up. He looks over his shoulder at Al with a grin. "Do you recognize this?"

Al peers in, and then gasps! Sitting inside is a round metal object, a wheel valve on its top. "The uranium bomb!"

"Not anymore," Huskisson says proudly. "There's still uranium inside that little beauty – but I don't intend to use it as an explosion. I intend to use it as a power source."

Al looks behind him at the large metal ring behind him. "A power source?"

"The dense amount of energy trapped inside that uranium, when harnessed, is enough to stabilize the portal. With it, I can create a traversable wormhole and get back to the other side!"

Al can feel something growing inside of him. Whether is it excitement or dread, he cannot tell. He looks apprehensively at Huskisson, "But you don't understand the implications of what you're doing. By opening the Gate, you're risking an interdimensional war!"

Huskisson looks sourly at the young man. "Really now, are you going to let fear stand in the way of science?"

"Just listen-"

"Don't you want to go home?"

Al's voice catches in his throat and his heart stops. Just that word – home…

Huskisson slowly closes the panel. He turns to fully face Al. He slowly says, "I can see it in your eyes, Alphonse Elric. That's all you really want, isn't it? To return home? Go back to Amestris? See all your old friends again. I'm sure they miss you."

Al looks down at the floor, his eyes quivering. He wants to say no, but he can't find his voice. All he can see is the countryside of Risembool… the Rockbell's house… Winry…

Huskisson locks the panel and puts the key back into his pocket. "That's all I really want. That's why I was so hell-bent on making weapons in the first place. I just wanted to make sure Amestris won the war – so that my family would be safe. You know about family, don't you? They're the most important people in our lives." He crosses his arms, still looking at Al who's still looking at the ground. "What about your brother? Is he still on the other side?"

Al utters, "No… he's-" And his eyes go wide, realizing, "Brother!" He whips back around towards the entrance, "He's still out there! He could get shot!" Al starts to bolt for the door, but Huskisson grabs him by the wrist.

"Well don't run out there yourself! _You_ could get shot. Don't worry," he tells Al. "I'll run upstairs right now and tell them to cease fire. Perhaps I really can pass the two of you off as my lab assistants…" And then brightly he says, "Say! That's actually not a bad idea. With three people working on it, we can be done in no time!" Huskisson points to the workbench, "Do you see those papers over there?"

Al looks over to where Huskisson points, "Yeah?"

"Those are the blueprints for the portal. Look them over. Get to work as soon as you can. In the meantime, I'll go get your brother." Huskisson finally lets go of Al's wrist and he starts to make his way to the staircase. He calls down, "Don't worry! I'll be right back!"

Al is quiet for a moment, just trying to process everything that's happening… _Home…_

At the top of the tower, the head guard stands at the edge, peering down at the bridge below. Half them men have their rifles trained on the left, the other half on the right. The soldier manning the spotlight is ready to move it at any moment should the intruder appear from his hiding spot.

Suddenly, the nearby radio crackles to life. "Chief? Ground unit reporting!"

The head guard moves to the radio. He picks up the microphone, "Ground unit, this is the chief."

"The intruder's not under the bridge anymore. We're not sure where he's gone to."

"Keep searching," the guard calls back.

Another voice arises over the airwaves, "Guard tower, are you there?"

The chief responds, "Yes, Dr. Henrikson, what is it?"

"I understand we have an intruder?" Huskisson's voice crackles over the radio.

"Yes sir, that's correct."

Huskisson, inside a den in the tower, holding onto a microphone smiles widely. "Shoot to kill."

Ed reaches the bottom of the hill, panting for breath, clutching tightly to his rifle. He turns around and looks back up at the tall towers peering over the tops of the trees. But his thoughts are cut short when from behind a pair of headlights begin to grow close. He ducks behind a tree, but right as he does, he hears,

"Ed!"

Ed looks out from his hiding spot. The car pulls up, making a turn to the left and then coming to a stop. With the headlights no longer in his eyes, he can see who's at the wheel.

"Roy!"

Roy, his head out the window, shouts, "What in the hell are you doing here?! Get in!"

"I can't!" Ed yells back. "Al's still in the castle! We have to get him out!"

"Damn it," Roy turns off the ignition and busts open the door, slamming it behind him. "You just couldn't wait, could you?"

Ed glares back up at him, "There's no time for that now. We can argue later."

"How many are we dealing with?" Roy asks, looking up to the castle.

Ed looks back over his shoulder into the woods, concerned. "I'm not sure. A dozen at least, probably more. And they have guns."

"So do we," Roy pulls from his pocket a large black pistol.

Ed is somewhere between scared and surprised, "How long have you been carrying that?!"

Roy has a cunning grin on his face. "I was an officer in the military. Do you think I go anywhere without a gun?" And like that, Roy is off and running uphill.

Ed follows after him, "Remind me never to piss you off…"

Al is sitting on the only stool in the room, next to the workbench. By this point, he's already removed his stolen helmet, and is scanning over the blueprints of the portal, the edges of the paper lined with equations, some scratched out, some erased and rewritten.

_This could actually work_, he thinks to himself. _But still…_

He hears footsteps coming down the stairs, Huskisson reappearing. "So," Huskisson chimes cheerily, "Everything all right down here? Don't worry, I've told them to bring your brother peacefully. Let's just hope he doesn't punch anybody with that automail arm of his."

Al laughs nervously, "Too late for that, I'm afraid."

Huskisson lets off a hearty laugh, taking Al somewhat aback, "Ahahaha! I suppose that's the Fullmetal Alchemist for you! Always so headstrong!" He approaches Al, craning his neck to see the papers, "So, how goes it? Do you understand all of this fairly well?"

"Uh, yeah," Al says, glancing back down at the blueprints, "As a matter of fact, you're actually making this more complicated than it needs to be."

"Oh?" Huskisson raises an eyebrow.

Al stands, laying the blueprints onto the workbench, flattening them out. "You're still thinking of space and time as two separate things. If there's one thing I learned from alchemy, it's that nothing is exclusively separate. Everything is connected in a large web. Space and time are probably the same. If you could combine the calculations, you could arrive at a single space-time answer."

"Hmm," Huskisson strokes his chin thoughtfully, "I never considered that. I'm genuinely impressed."

Al is quiet for a moment, and then says, "Mr. Huskisson-"

"Doctor, please."

"Oh, Dr. Huskisson," Al continues, "I will help you with the portal – but only on one condition."

Huskisson crosses his arms, still trying to keep a nice demeanor about him. "And what's that?"

"You're right. I do want to go home. And even though my brother acts like he's all right living here, I know he wants to go home, too. So once we open this portal and make it to the other side, you have to promise me-" Al says firmly, "That we'll destroy it."

"What?!" Huskisson shouts with cruel dismay, "Destroy it?! After all the work I've put into it?!"

"You said so yourself," Al reminds him, "You want your family to be safe. Keeping the portal open will only endanger them and everyone else. Destroying it is the only way to protect everyone."

Huskisson gives a cough, regaining his composure, "Ahem, well, yes. I did say that, didn't I?" He grumbles inwardly, and then still trying to play nice, he changes the subject, "Well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Until then, let's worry about those calculations you were talking about."

Ed and Roy continue to make their way up the hill through the brush, when, off to their left, they can hear the Ground Unit. They both duck down behind the bushes and wait for the soldiers pass, the troops not even seeing them off to the side.

Once the soldiers disappear from sight, Ed and Roy take off running again, growing ever closer to the castle.

Once more, Ed arrives at the short wall, though this time he aims for the much taller cover of the inclined side. He and Roy peer over the top.

"Darn," Ed whispers, "They're moving that searchlight around again. I was hoping they'd have left it on the bridge."

"Ouhhh," they hear someone groaning near their feet. It's the soldier from before, the one Ed knocked out. He slowly sits up, holding his head, "What's going-?" POW! Ed kicks him in the jaw and knocks him out again.

"Shh!" Roy hisses, "Keep it down!"

"Sorry," Ed responds.

"Quick, help me get his clothes off," Roy says, undoing the soldier's belt.

"Say what?"

"You can disguise yourself as one of them, go in, get Al, and come back out. I'll stay here and keep you covered."

"Oh."

"And here," he passes Ed his pistol, "Take this. Give me your rifle. I'm going to need it more than you."

The head guard atop the watch tower is growing increasingly agitated. He goes to the radio again, "Ground team, report!"

The radio crackles, "He's not down here either. Should we continue out to the road?"

"No. You know the commander doesn't want anyone in the town to know we're up here. They see soldiers, they might tell the government."

"Understood."

"Return back to base."

"Yes sir."

Suddenly, there is the snapping of a twig, and the spotlight swings around to the grounds below. The chief yells out, "Who goes there?!"

Below is a blonde soldier, his hands raised. "Whoa! Don't shoot!"

The chief calls down, "Who are you?"

"New guy! Just came up from Munich! Haushofer sent me!"

"Where's your helmet?"

The soldier rubs his head nervously, "It is my first day! Can't blame me if I forget something!"

On the other side of the short wall, Roy puts a hand to his face, grumbling, "Damn it, Edward…"

The chief calls down again, "What's the password?"

Edward is visibly beginning to sweat. "…Shamballa?"

"FIRE!"

Once more, Edward is tucking and rolling out of the line of fire – only this time he has Roy on his side. Roy pops up from behind the short wall, and he, still hidden in darkness, begins to fire his rifle at the top of the tower – and the first thing he aims for is that spotlight!

CRASH! With a great shattering of glass, a flash of light, and a pop of heat, sparks fly and the light is extinguished, the whole scene now bathed in darkness. Neither enemy can see one another, and shots go off randomly in the darkness.

Al and Huskisson are at the control panel, tinkering with some settings when they hear gunshots. Al looks over his shoulder, "What's going on? What's all that noise?"

Suddenly, Edward comes running down the stairs, bursting into the room.

"Brother!" Al cries, "Are you all right?!"

"Come on, Al!" Edward shouts, "We gotta get out of here." And then Ed sees the man standing near Al, the tall man with long brown hair and the scraggily goatee. "Huskisson!" And immediately, Ed pulls out Roy's pistol and points it at the scientist.

Al jumps in front, "Brother, no!"

"Al! What the hell are you doing?!" Ed snaps.

Al holds his arms wide, shielding Huskisson, facing his brother, "You don't understand! He's on our side!"

"The hell is he! Move out of the way!"

"He just wants to get home, Ed! And we can help! We can open the Gate! And then we can go home!"

Ed thunders, "Damn it, Al! We've been through this! We can't risk another interdimensional war!"

"There won't be one!" Al asserts. "Once we're on the other side, we'll destroy it! And then the Thule Society won't be able to follow us!"

"And how the hell are we supposed to destroy it from the other side?!" Ed angrily yells. "We might not be able to reach back through to this side, and then what? The door's left wide open and Thule soldiers can just come flying into our world like they did last time!"

"Dr. Huskisson says we can set a time bomb!" Al turns to the doctor, "Tell him!"

Huskisson stutters a little bit, but somehow still sounds very authoritative, "Y-yes, that's quite correct! We'll be long gone before it ever explodes."

"And what sort of bomb do you intend to use? The uranium bomb?"

Huskisson waves his hands back and forth, a wide, albeit nervous, smile across his face, "Why no! Of course not! I would never dream of such a thing."

"But…" Al says quietly, "The portal is powered by the uranium bomb…"

Huskisson lowly growls.

Al mutters, "Even if we used regular black powder bombs… They might set off the uranium bomb." He looks over at Huskisson, "And then the whole town could be destroyed."

Huskisson, clenching his fist, speaks through grit teeth, "It's a risk we have to take. Do you want to go back home or don't you?"

Al furrows his brow, "Not if it means endangering everyone here."

Huskisson shouts, "So one town will be destroyed! It's a small town anyway! There won't be that many casualties!"

"No!" Al yells at him, "I don't want anyone getting hurt because of this! I want to go home as badly as you do, maybe even more! But I'm not going to kill people to do it!"

Without warning, Huskisson pulls down on a lever and suddenly all the lights go dim. A great whirring noise arises from all around, concentrated in the center of the room.

Huskisson grins, "I'm not asking what you want."

Electricity begins to crackle round and round the large metal ring in the center of the room. Ed backs away from it, a great heat arising from the pit as it begins to glow orange. He looks fiercely over at Huskisson. "What have you done?!"

"Oh don't worry," Huskisson hums, "I never intended for a time bomb to go off. How else will the soldiers be able to get through?"

"What?!" Al looks over at him in shock. He cries, "Then why did you-?"

Huskisson glances over at him, "I only said all that so you'd help me with my calculations. And now that you have," he reaches for his holster, "I have no need for you anymore."

"AL!" Ed cries.

Huskisson pulls out his gun, but Ed fires his own. Lucky for Huskisson, Ed is a terrible shot. Huskisson turns his gun at Ed instead, but Al swings his fist upwards, connecting with Huskisson's wrist, knocking the gun upward. It goes off, the bullet ricocheting off the walls.

The scientist tries once more to turn on Al, but Al punches him right across the face, sending him crashing into the control panel – and as he lands, Huskisson ends up hitting all kinds of buttons, breaking off a few knobs too. He stares at the control panel in horror, mouth gaping. "You fools! What have you done?!"

The ring of the center pit begins to hum louder, the low rumble growing into a high-pitched whine, the metal of the ring now glowing red hot. Sparks begin to fly from the heavy cables that run up the walls, the tapestries catching fire, and the antenna on the ceiling is bolting with lightning!

Ed grasps Al by his arm, "The bomb! Where is it?!"

Al points to one of the panels, "In there!"

Huskisson in the meanwhile is frantically trying to repair the damage, "My work! All my beautiful work!"

FROOM!

He looks over at the workbench – it is engulfed in flames! "NO! My blueprints! My calculations!" Pulling off his lab coat, he runs over and begins beating at the flames.

Ed gets to the control panel, and with his automail arm, punches the lock. The panel pops open and there it is – after all these years, Ed is face-to-face with the item he's been searching for – the uranium bomb!

But there's so much electricity sparking everywhere, Ed's afraid if he touches it he'll be shocked. But if he leaves it in there any longer, it could go off!

Huskisson is gathering as many documents as he can carry, and all around him there is creaking and cracking and popping as the walls and ceiling of the castle are being damaged. He looks up just in time to see a flaming tapestry come crashing down on him! He screams, throwing his hands up to protect himself, dropping everything he's just collected – but it's not enough to protect him. Covered in cloth and fire, Huskisson clambers backwards, screaming such horrid screams. He trips over the red-hot circumference of the portal ring and falls into the center, the lighting from the antenna bolting down and electrocuting him!

"Brother, hurry!" Ed hears Al cry.

It's now or never! Ed rips off the soldier's jacket he's wearing and wraps it around his human hand. Quickly, he grabs a hold of the wheel valve on the top of the uranium bomb, inwardly praying – and in one swift jerk, he yanks the whole bomb from its resting place!

The power dies down, the electric sparks ceasing. But the fires still rage.

"Come on!" Ed yells, rushing towards his brother, grabbing him by the hand. "Let's get the hell out of here!"

On top of the tower, the soldiers are gagging, choking on thick billows of ash and smoke. Ed and Al come running out, the soldiers unable to see them for the veil of grey. Roy stands, and all three begin to run.

"Wait!" Roy shouts, "This way!" He runs off to the right, the Elrics following – for coming up the hill is the ground unit. The three men duck down behind a bush, hearing the soldiers clamoring.

"Quick! Find the doctor! Save the bomb!"

Once the soldiers have passed, Ed, Al, and Roy make a break for it, running downhill as fast as they can without falling forward.

They make it back to the car, Roy quickly putting the key in the ignition, Ed and Al jumping in the back. The car roars to life, and the tires screech as Roy hits the gas and drives off like a shot.

All three of them are breathless, nothing but the sound of their panting filling the car for several minutes. After a while, this gives way to heavy silence. All that can be heard is the sound of crickets and the nighttime air whooshing past the open windows.

"…I'm sorry," Al mumbles.

Ed looks over at him.

"…I almost did it again, didn't I?" Even though he was full grown, Al's voice now squeaked the way it did when he was young. "I was going to open the Gate… just so that we could see Risembool again…" Tears begin to stream his face. "I could have started a war, _again_… all because I was being stupid and selfish…"

"Hey," Ed puts a hand on Al's shoulder. "It's all right."

Al hangs his head in his hands, crying, "No it's not! I didn't learn anything! I just want to go home! I want to see Winry and Pinako and Sig and Rose and Major Armstrong – I miss them all so much!" His shaking shoulders curl inwards as he sobs.

Ed rubs Al's back, letting him weep. He hadn't seen his younger brother like this for many years. Clearly he had been keeping it all inside.

Roy silently drives along. He glances at the boys in the rearview mirror.

Ed looks down to his lap. There it sits. The uranium bomb. Ed lets out a long, exhausted, yet relieved, sigh. "…It's finally over…"

The sun barely peeks over the horizon, and what sky that is visible is turning blue. Most of it is still shrouded by clouds mixed with lingering ashes. A car drives up the wooded road, approaching the castle. In the back of the car rides a man – thin of build and of hair, he has a tiny, wispy moustache and a receding hairline. Large, round glasses magnifying his otherwise beady eyes. He would seem totally harmless were it not for the distinct air of sliminess that hangs about him.

The car comes to halt in front of the castle, and the man riding in the back gets out and surveys the damage before him – the bridge is half crumbled, the garden scorched – and the north tower, though it still stands, has black streaks running from its base to its tip.

The chief guard dashes up to man at the car and salutes him. "Herr Himmler! I'm sorry. The weapon is gone."

Himmler asks, "And Henrikson?"

"Dead, sir."

Himmler scans the castle from right to left and back again, not saying a word. Then, still gazing at the castle, says, "What a pity. Let's go inside, shall we? I must report all this back to the Party. I'm sure they'll want to know the full extent of the damage."

"Yes sir," the chief concedes. "We'll have to enter at ground level. The bridge is too dangerous to cross."

"Yes, yes," Himmler says, sounding rather bored with it all. "We'll have to rebuild it."

The chief opens the door for his commander and Himmler makes his way down the stairs. He looks around at the mess – the stonewalls blackened, the metal ring of the portal nothing more than twisted shards. A large pile of ash sits in the center of the pit.

Himmler nods towards it and questions, "Henrikson?"

"Yes sir."

"Hmm," he chimes. "Fitting that you should die in a crypt, my friend. Even more poetic that you should be turned into ash." He heads for the stairs.

The chief, yet to start walking again, looks at the ashes and back to his commander, "Sir?"

Himmler, still walking to the staircase says, "Like a phoenix from the ashes, we shall rise."

The chief is puzzled, but nonetheless follows in behind his commander.

Himmler reaches the top of the staircase, and entering the first floor of the north tower, he is stunned. He stares, wide-eyed, at the floor.

The chief reaches the top of the stairs and sees his commander acting strangely. "…Sir? Sir, are you all right?"

"Look at it," Himmler says breathlessly.

The floor is cracked, long, black, lightning-like streaks streaming out from the center of the floor, reaching out to all pillars of the room.

The chief looks down at the floor, lifting his helmet out of his eyes. "Huh. That must have been from the electricity downstairs. See there in the center? That's right where Dr. Henrikson had some weird lightning rod or whatever hanging from the ceiling."

Himmler proclaims, "It is a sign from the gods!"

The chief is yet again confused, but tired of asking.

His commander continues, "I have seen this symbol before – on artifacts recovered from ancient Teuton villages. They call it the Black Sun. Do you know what that is?"

The chief shakes his head slowly.

"It is the Anti-Sol, the opposite of our own yellow sun. It is the sun that hides at the center of the hollow earth, in the halls of the Vril-ya, at the very heart of Shamballa!"

The chief slowly slides away from his commander.

Himmler does not notice, nor does he care. He is enthralled with the symbol on the floor below him. "Yes. Here – here is where we shall center the new world. This shall be the axis point around which everything else revolves! Here, HERE, is where we shall build our new world!

**To Be Continued**


	8. The Turning Tides

Huge red banners are strung across the square, billowing in the breeze as the people far below are gathering together, a great sense of pride and patriotism flowing through their veins. The marching band is warming up, the trumpets and tubas honking and tooting arhythmically as they run their exercises. A man with a cart strolls through the square, selling flags to parents and their children to celebrate the spirit of the occasion. Meanwhile across the square, another man is handing out leaflets for free, proclaiming national pride and prowess. Everywhere there is a buzz of excitement and happiness, a great anticipation for the event about to come.

And then, in the center of the square, a man walks up the steps of a platform and stands behind the podium, and a great rolling cheer issues from the crowd at his feet.

The year is 1932

"Ed! Wait for me!"

Al is still trying to rearrange a few groceries he's carrying in one of his bags, but between the bag and the number of people in the square today, he's having a hard time keeping up with his brother.

Edward in the meanwhile is grumpily pushing his way through the crowd. "Darn it! Why do there have to be so many people all squeezed into one place? Where are the cops?! Why don't they rope it off so normal people can walk through! I'm not here for the dumb rally!"

"Brother!" Alphonse's head just barely pokes over the crowd as he cranes his neck to see.

Ed sighs and rolls his eyes, turning around. "Come on, Al! It's not like you don't know where the house is."

"You could at least help me with the bags!"

"Oh, all right!" Edward takes one of the bags from Al and together they walks through the crowd, attempting not to bump into people (although this is a near-impossible achievement).

The people continue to shout and cheer and chant.

_"Heil! Heil! Heil!"_

Ed holds a free hand to his ear. "Augh! Dammit! Can't you have they courtesy not to shout in my ear!"

Al grabs his brother by the arm and drags him away before a fight breaks out. It's no secret that Edward has a bad temper.

Ed continues to grumble to himself (something he's prone to do on an empty stomach), "Damn stupid Worker's Party and their damn stupid rallies!"

Al trots alongside him, attempting not to step on people's feet and knock over children as he does so. "Still, I'm surprised so many people are here! From the talk you hear, you wouldn't think this many people actually support the party."

"Yeah, but think about who's printing those articles - The people with brains! This party plays to lowest denominator and takes advantage of their stupidity!"

"That's not fair, brother. I'm sure there are smart people who support this. Just because you don't like it doesn't mean it's wrong."

Ed whips around to Al, pointing a finger at him, "What, are you saying you like what they have to say?!"

"No, Brother! Nothing like that! I just meant in general!"

"My people!" a voice rings over the speakers from the center of the square.

The crowd begins to fall silent, and Ed and Al look over, naturally curious as to who is speaking. He is a short man with dark hair, a small moustache, and a serious face. He wears a military outfit to convey a sense of power, but other than that, there doesn't seem to be anything apparently spectacular about him. And yet the simple act of standing behind a podium and speaking into a microphone seems to be enough to command the attention of the audience.

"My people," he says again, "The time to act is at hand! Germany stands on the brink of a great new era, in which we, God's race, shall rule over all of the nations of the earth!"

Cheers arise and immediately quiet down as he continues.

"We cannot let fear stand in our way. We cannot allow the hard times we have fallen upon deter us from our true destiny. There are those who will speak against us - tell us that we are wrong and that they are right. But I say, with the God that created the German race as my witness, that we shall rise! Rise like a glorious phoenix from the ashes of our dismay and shine a blazing light across the entire world!"

The crowd roars raucously, swaying almost hypnotically as they continue chanting, _"Heil! Heil! Heil!"_

Al tugs on Ed's sleeve, "Brother, I'm scared!"

"Yeah, let's get out of here before they start a riot..." Ed turns from the podium and begins to walk away, his brother following in behind him.

Ed thinks to himself, _I hope that eventually people will realize just how crazy they're acting..._

But the months pass, and Ed's hopes are not fulfilled...

In fact, everywhere he turns, more red seemed to cover the land, filling the windows of shops and being tacked to the notice boards at workplaces. Even at the university, the one place where Edward felt safe in the confidence of those who are "smart" - even here, he begins to see how people's opinions towards the Worker's Party are beginning to change.

"Hey Elric!"

Ed is walking down the halls when he hears a coworker call him. He looks over his shoulder as fellow scientist, Zimmerman, walks up to him.

"What is it?" Ed asks him.

"The university board is thinking of opening up a Eugenics branch in the Science Department. They haven't appointed any positions yet, but I thought you and I should try out for it."

"Eugenics?" Ed asks, perplexed.

"Yeah!" Zimmerman says excitedly. "Wouldn't it be great if we could ensure that the next generation is born without any defects? Think of all the diseases we could cure if we prevent them from ever occurring!"

Ed ponders this, "Yeah, I guess it would make a lot of parents happy to give birth to healthy babies..."

"And not just healthy!" His coworker continues, "Beautiful too! Everybody could come out blonde-hair and blue-eyed!"

Ed frowns, "Now you just make it sound like we're breeding dogs."

Zimmerman rubs the back of his head, a little embarrassed, "Well, when you say it like that, it does kind of sound silly, doesn't it?"

"It sounds really silly. And the board is taking this seriously?"

"Very seriously!" Zimmerman suddenly sounds offended, and this surprises Ed. "And you should too! This isn't just about our university, Elric! This about the good of the whole country!"

"Okay, jeez! Sorry! I'll check it out later, okay?"

His coworker walks away in a huff, knowing that Edward is lying to him. Ed straightens his tie, feeling awkward at his coworker's sudden change in mood. "That was weird... Wait a sec!"

Ed's eyes are immediately drawn to a small silver something that is dangling off a small chain hanging from Zimmerman's pocket. It looks sort of like a coat of arms, but he has seen it before. He mutters to himself in disbelief, "That's the Thule Society crest!"

He seems rooted to the spot. _They're still around? Even after everything? _Ed isn't sure what to make of this...

"The Thule Society?" Roy asks that night over dinner, after Edward has told him and Al what had happened earlier that day. "We haven't heard a peep out of them in years."

"I know," Edward says, "I was almost certain that they disbanded after the portal blew up... And yet how close they has been..."

"Perhaps this is enough to keep them valuable to the Worker's Party," Roy notes.

"Do you think the uranium bomb is safe?" Al asks. "I mean, the Lodge isn't exactly what I'd call a military stronghold..."

"Don't worry," Roy reassures him. "As far as I know, the Thulers are unaware that we're the ones who stole their weapon. I doubt they'd go to the Lodge looking for it."

"So what are they up to?" Al asks.

"Who knows," Ed responds.

Roy, who has been taking a sip from his drink, set his cup to the side. "The last I heard they are still trying to recruit psychics to their side. They believe that they can harness the powers of the spirit world and turn its energy into some sort of weapon."

"How would they do that?" Al questions.

"It's already happening," Roy says darkly. The brothers grow quiet as they watch him think silently. Then he says, "You've seen the rallies. What are they doing? It's mind control. Hypnosis. They're tapping into people's subconscious, their collective instinct - twisting it to what the Thule Society wants to accomplish."

Ed narrows his eyes, "To bring a war."

"But why a war?" Al sounds a bit distraught. "If they really could use the powers of the spirit world, then why wouldn't they use it for good?"

Roy fiddles with the Masonic ring on his finger, anxious. "They think what they're doing is good. Good for them, anyway. They fail to see the bigger picture and how it will play out."

_And what is this bigger picture_? Edward wonders to himself over the next several weeks. _If there are Thule Society members lurking around every corner, what's the picture they're trying to create?_

He sees Zimmerman from time to time as he walks through the halls at work. Ed would conveniently look away, seeming as though he is preoccupied with a notice on a board, a bird outside the window - anything to keep from starting a conversation with the man.

But at the same time... Ed can't help but want to march right up to him and beat the answers out of him.

"Professor Elric," an old man says.

Ed looks up and sees an old man, one of his fellow lodge members. "Oh, Professor Heidelmann. What can I do for you?"

"You've seem distracted lately," the professor notes. "Is everything all right?"

Ed seems somewhere between distant and tired, "Yeah. Everything's fine. It's just... well, sir..." He lowers his voice, moving in closer to Heidelmann, "Zimmerman over there - He's a member of the Thule Society."

Heidelmann grumbles in his throat, also speaking lowly, "You're sure of this?"

"He was wearing their emblem. Either he doesn't know what it means, or worse - he does."

"Has he been acting strangely at all?"

"Not really. At least no more strangely than everyone seems to be acting lately."

"Strange is a matter of perspective, young man. If we're not careful, people will think that we're the ones who are strange."

"What do you mean?"

Professor Heidelmann crosses his arms and gives a serious nod. "If we do not keep a good face value with the community, they will not trust us any longer."

"Face value?"

Professor Heidelmann continues, "The Freemasons have a long history of being distrusted, due to our very secretive nature. Many would suspect that we are up to no good behind closed doors."

"I guess that's understandable," Ed comments, "But we're not doing anything wrong. What business is it of theirs?"

"People are prone to an 'us versus them' mentality. If anyone is not a part of their group, or if they are excluded from someone else's group, than that other group is the enemy."

Ed grumbles and sighs to himself, a hand to his now aching head, "Go figure."

Heidelmann continues, "We need to blend in. We don't want to do anything that makes us appear different. For starters, I'd take off that ring."

"My ring?" Ed looks down at his hand to his Masonic ring. He grows slightly disgruntled, "I thought the whole point of this is to show our pride. Being a lodge member doesn't make us bad people."

"It does in the eyes of the Worker's Party and their followers. This is what I meant by 'keeping up face value.' As long as we nod and smile and play nice with them, as long as we don't do anything that they wouldn't like, then perhaps they will leave us be."

Ed crosses his arms, he himself cross, "So what! Am I supposed to join that Eugenics department and start transmuting perfect babies or something?"

"I never said anything like that, Elric. I just meant we should do what we can to keep their trust."

"And why shouldn't they trust us? We haven't done anything wrong."

"Unfortunately sometimes the price of freedom is lying."

"That's not freedom at all! Why should we have to pussyfoot around? That just makes us look more suspicious!"

"All I'm saying, Elric, is that if we do anything more to incur the wrath of either the Worker's Party or the Thule Society, it could turn out very badly - not just for you or I personally, but the whole lodge, maybe even the whole Order."

"I don't care who in the party I piss off! It's not like those lunatics will ever be in power anyway!"

It isn't long at all before Ed's headache grows into a full-blown migraine.

January 30, 1933: People swell in the streets, shouting and cheering and waving banners as they scramble to buy newspapers.

Ed, Al, and Roy are standing outside a coffee shop as its owner is busy exchanging money for newspapers. People crowd in to get a glimpse of the front page, even though they are going to buy the paper anyway.

"Can you believe this?" Roy says, almost disgusted. It's somewhat hard to hear him for all the noise about them. "Chancellor Hitler. Why don't they just say 'Chancellor Napoleon' - he's as short as he is."

Al attempts to brighten the situation, knowing full well it's a smart-alec remark, "Hey! He's about as short as-"

Ed's face darkens (albeit comically), "Say it, and I'll skin your cat."

Al retracts with a laugh.

"Oh come on!" Roy bursts indignantly.

"What is it?" Al asks.

"Look at this!" Roy reads aloud from the paper he holds in his hand, " 'The Grand Lodges of Germany have extended their congratulations to the new chancellor and wish him well during his term in office.' ! How can they even say that?!"

"Looks like Heidelmann got his way then, huh?" Ed says, hands on his hips.

"It's cowardice, that's what it is!" Roy says heatedly. It had been a while since Edward has seen him like this. But now that Ed thought about it, he has never seen _this_ Roy like this. It has always been the colonel...

Ed's thoughts are abruptly cut short as someone runs into him, spilling their hot coffee all down the front of his shirt. "Hey!" Ed shouts, pushing the man away. "Watch where you're going!"

Al says, "Come on, let's get out of here. It's too noisy and crowded."

They continues their way down the street, away from the newsstand. But Roy is still riled, "How could the lodge congratulate them like that? Don't they know that the Nazis view us as enemies?"

Al responds, "I think they're just trying to extend an olive branch. You know, show the party that we're harmless."

Ed interjects, "Let's not worry about it right now. We're here to get some new glassware so let's concentrate on that."

Al rubs his head, a little embarrassed, "Yeah, sorry about that Roy."

Roy says, "I understand that you're enthusiastic about chemistry and all, Al, but did you have to use the teapot to distill your experiments?"

"I used the jar for distillation. The teapot was for boiling."

Ed gives a half a laugh, "Either way, everything's either cracked or poisoned now."

At the china shop, the three men roam around. Al picks up a white ceramic teapot, he bursting with enthusiasm. "Brother look at this one! The flower patterning on it is so pretty!"

"Al, we don't need pretty dishes. We're going to be messing them up anyway."

"You're always so boring, Ed. Why _can't_ we have nice things?"

Roy says, "As long as it's not expensive, I don't care what we buy."

Al continues, "I'm just trying to make our home look nice, is all."

Roy looks away from the bickering boys, trying to do what he could to stay out of their silly arguments. But as he looks over, he realizes that the shopkeeper and his wife are giving them funny looks. Roy smiles, "Sorry, ma'am. We don't mean to cause so much noise."

The lady puts on an obviously fake smile, "So. You three gentlemen live together?"

Roy chuckles, "Sadly."

"Your wife must have quite a time trying to do all that cooking and cleaning for three men."

"Oh, I'm not married, ma'am."

The lady looks incredibly uncomfortable, "Oh… I see."

"Brother!" Al is excitedly musing. "This one has kittens on it! We have to buy it!"

"Al, stop picking girly dishes and help me look for something practical."

The shopkeeper leaves his wife's side and approaches Roy, "Perhaps it's best if the three of you left."

Roy is a little upset, "Look, I'll get them to settle down. We'll buy some dishes and we'll leave, I promise."

"We don't sell anything to YOUR kind. I don't want any trouble, so just get out, you hear me?"

Roy is confused, as are Al and Ed who have noticed what is going on.

They later stand outside the shop, the door being closed in their face.

"Well that is weird," Al says. He looks at Roy. "What did he mean 'our' kind?"

Roy says nothing.

Time passes, and it seems every time Ed turns around, things just go from bad to worse. What had started as whispers began to grow into full-blown conversations, out in the open.

"I'm telling ya!" he hears one man say to another as he sits in the university cafeteria, "Those freeloading Freemason are Jewish sympathizers!"

"Oh you don't know that," the other fellow says to him.

"Have you seen their emblem? It's the Star of David! All they did is remove a couple of lines to hide it!"

"Huh, now that you mention it, it does sort of look like the Star of David."

"And that's not all! I hear they practice some dark magic that was created by King Solomon! Their Zionists I tell ya! They're trying to turn the whole world into their New Jerusalem, and at the price of driving out every non-Hebrew! It's us or them!"

Ed pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling another headache coming on. _Just let it go_, he tells himself.

"Elric!" A voice cheerily says.

Ed looks up and feels his stomach lurch.

Zimmerman stands in front of him, pulling out a chair and starting to sit down across from him. "I hear you haven't applied for the Eugenics position yet. Come on! I've been doing what I can to get the board to save a spot for you!"

Ed closes his eyes, grumbling, attempting to ignore the growing headache, "For the last time, I'm a chemist and an engineer – I'm not interested in your breeding program."

Zimmerman snickers, "I dunno – maybe a little _breeding _is what you need. You're always so pent up, you need to get a girl."

Ed blushes, angry. "That's so perverse!"

Zimmerman chuckles, waving it off, "Just trying to lighten the mood, pal. You're always so serious!"

"That seems to be the general mood everyone's in lately," Ed says. "Everyone's always talking about warfare and politics, and no one's ever in a good mood anymore."

"Okay, yeah, so everyone's a little on edge. It's only because people don't feel safe on the streets, what with gypsies and other undesirable walking around."

Ed clenches his fist, trying to keep his temper under control. "Right. Because people who are wanders aren't to be trusted."

"See, now you're getting it. They only wander because they don't have a home. What we need to do is allot a plot of land specifically for them and _give _them a home. I hear that's what they did in the United States for the Indians there – reservations, they call them."

Ed laughs indignantly, "Prisons you mean. Even if the government did allot land for these 'undesirables' as you call them – do you really think they'd give them _good_ land? No! They'd force them to fend for themselves while saving all the good land for 'real' Germans."

Zimmerman's mood turns dark, "This _is_ Germany after all. Why shouldn't real Germans be allowed the best opportunities? Everyone else is a freeloader. We're being gracious by allowing these people to remain here."

Ed picks up his lunch tray and stands up, "For how long? How long will your graciousness last before you figure it's not worth the effort and just start killing people off?"

"I never said anything like that, Elric."

"I'm not joining your stupid Eugenics board, so stop asking. And do me a favor and stay away from me, you got that?"

Ed starts to walk away, Zimmerman still trying to talk to him, "Elric, just hear m-" and then Zimmerman's voice slows – for now, as he is sitting and Ed is standing, Zimmerman at his angle can see Edward's hand clearly as it holds the lunch tray. Zimmerman can see that on Ed's hand is a ring. A Masonic ring.

Edward walks away, glad that his coworker has finally shut up, unaware of why it is he has fallen silent.

As is Checkers' dinnertime habit, the cat sits on the windowsill, staring into the house awaiting Alphonse to bring him some after-dinner scraps.

The trio sits at the table eating their dinner, drinking their beverages out of bowls as they have yet to get new cups.

When suddenly, there is a knock on the door. They all look up.

"Huh," Al asks, "I wonder who that could be?"

"I'll get it," Roy arises from his seat and leaves the table.

At the front door, he opens it up and is greeted by two police officers, two more standing beside the police car parked out front.

"Good evening, officers. Can I help you with something?" Roy inquires.

"Yes," the officer says to him, "We've had reports of a burglar sneaking around this neighborhood, and we were wondering if you've seen anyone suspicious lately."

Ed and Al at the table crane their necks to peer around the dining room entryway, trying to see who is at the door.

Roy says to the officer, "No, sir, I can't say that I have."

The officer continues, "For your own safety, we've been ordered to get people out of the neighborhood for the time being."

Roy raises an eyebrow, "That's a little extreme isn't it, for one burglar?"

"I really must insist," the officer says, his partner putting his hand on his pistol.

Roy notices this and grows quite, his heart pounding in his ears. Memories of the war quickly flooded his mind, and he knows – he knows….

Ed narrows his eyes, unable to see much of what is going on, for Roy is blocking his view of the officers. But he can still sense that something is wrong.

Roy has to say something, and he has to say something fast. "Do you have a permit for this?"

The officer says, "A permit? You mean warrant."

Roy says, "I am strictly forbidden to take any of the workmen from the Temple out of the country without King Solomon's permit."

Ed's eyes grow wide. _It's code! _he thinks to himself. _From the Masonic tales! _

"Brother?" Al asks, concerned, he too understanding what is happening.

Ed quickly grabs his brother's hand and pulls him under the table. Ed put his finger to his mouth, signaling Al to remain silent.

The officer at the door looks at Mustang indignantly, "What are you babbling on about?"

The other officer interjects, "We don't have time for this! Come on!" He roughly grabs Roy by the wrist, Roy struggling against him.

"Unhand me!"

Ed tries to jump up to do something, but Al pulls him back down. "Out the back! We'll sneak up on them!"

Ed and Al quickly duck out from behind the table, rushing for the back door, but not before they are spotted.

"There are the other two! Stop them!"

Roy shouts, "Ed! Al! RUN!"

The free officer rushes into the house, running after the boys as Ed flings open the back door and he and Al run out into the alleyway.

They dash down the dank street, Checkers being frightened by their sudden appearance and leaping from the windowsill to scurry into a nearby box. Ed and Al's path is block by the other two officers, but not for long as Ed winds back his heavy metal arm and lays one of the policemen flat.

The other wraps his arms around Al's midsection, lifting him off the ground. "Let me go!" Al shouts, kicking and screaming.

Ed punches the man in the back with loud CRACK, and the man screams, dropping Al to instead hold his aching back.

"Come on!" Ed shouts, he and Al running again. They turn the corner to get back to the front door.

Roy still struggles as his captor places him in handcuffs, ushering him towards the police car. "You can't do this to me! This is how you treat someone who fought in the war?!"

The officer smacks him clear across the mouth with his pistol, causing Roy's lip to bleed. "It's because of people like you that we LOST the war! You're a traitor!"

"Roy!" Ed comes running towards the policeman – but at that same time, the officer who had run into the house is just now turning the corner from the alleyway.

Roy shouts, "Ed! Behind you!"

Ed turns around in time to see the officer pulling out his pistol. Both he and Al duck, splitting up and running in different directions.

Roy shouts, "Forget about me! Get out of here!" And the policeman hits him again, this time across the back of his head, knocking him out.

"Shut up!" and he shoves Roy into the back of the car.

Ed ducks behind a building, trying to stay out of the line of fire, but knowing that he has to get to both Al and Roy. _Dammit!_ He grits his teeth. He looks across the street to Al who hides behind the opposite building. Al looks back, and pointing to his right, indicates they should run ahead and meet up down the street.

Ed nods, and then runs further into the alley, farther away from the main street. He turns at the next right he comes to, running down its length, peering to his right, trying to keep Alphonse in view, unable to see him for the mass of houses.

At the next main street intersection, Ed turns the corner, quickly pressing himself against the wall. Slowly, he peers back into the backstreet from which he has come, making sure he isn't followed. He doesn't see anyone…

And then suddenly a hand grabs him by his collar! Ed winds back his arm.

"Ed! It's me!" It is Al.

"We've got to get to Roy!"

"You heard him, Ed! We need to get out of here!"

"I'm not leaving without him!"

But as he says that, the hum of an engine begins to pass – it is the police car, the officers rubbing their aching heads, Roy in the backseat, his head lolling to the side.

"Roy!" Again he tries to move forward, and again Al holds him back.

"We can't rush into this! We need a plan!"

Finally, Ed stills. He knows his brother is right. He knows Roy is right. "That line about King Solomon's permit…"

Al nods. "From the Masonic rites. The next line is, 'Then let us return back into the country.' Roy is telling us that we need to get out of town."

"And go where?"

"Maybe to one of the other lodges somewhere. Maybe back to Büren."

Ed crosses his arms, looking into the distance, "If they're arresting Masons here, you can bet they're doing it in other towns, too. It's probably best if we stay away from the lodges."

"Wherever we go, we need to lie low. We need to get our heads together and plan how we're going to rescue Roy. If we go running headfirst into this, we'll get caught too."

"Yeah, you're right. It's not exactly smart to burst into a police station with all those armed officers."

"We can't stay here," Al pleads. "We need to get out of the neighborhood before they send more police after us!"

"All right, calm down," Ed tells him. "We need a safe house. And we can't go to the lodge…" And then suddenly an old familiar look crosses Ed's face, a look that makes him look like a conniving cat. "And I think I know just the place."

**Knock, knock, knock!** It is after sunset. Who would be knocking on the door at this hour? Zimmerman goes to his front door and opens it. "Elric?!"

Ed has a great big grin plastered on his face, his brother sheepishly standing behind him. Ed greets him, "Hey there, Zimmerman! I've been thinking it over, and I shouldn't have yelled at you the other day. I was just in a bad mood is all!"

Zimmerman looks nervous, "So, uh, what brings you here?"

Ed barges his way into the house, Al following, Zimmerman trying to block them to no avail. Ed spouts cheerfully, "I'm thinking Eugenics is probably the way to go. I mean, while I don't agree that everyone should have blonde hair and blue eyes, I still think it's great that babies can be born healthy!"

Zimmerman stutters, "Uh, th-that's nice, but it's _awfully_ late. Don't you think you should be at home? MMF!" The next that he knows, Zimmerman's mouth is being muffled, Al tying a gag around the man's mouth.

"I'm really sorry about this," Al apologizes.

Ed ties up Zimmerman's hands. "They'll never think to look at the house of their informant, will they? Oh, don't worry Zimmy, old pal. We're not gonna hurt you. We just need a place to crash. To the closet!"

Zimmerman struggles every step of the way, but eventually the Elrics push him into the broom closet and shut the door on him, propping a chair up against the door to keep him in. The door shakes and rattles as Zimmerman beats up against it from the inside.

Ed lets out a sigh. Al says, "Are you sure the neighbors won't hear him?"

"Let's be thankful he's got a big yard then," Ed says. "The sound should dissipate before it ever reaches the neighbors."

"Now what?"

Ed goes over to the sofa and flop down, arms crossed as he lets out another sigh. "And now we plan. We need to figure out where they've taken Roy and how to get him back."

"Surely they've taken him to the police station."

"For now. Who knows how long they'll keep him there before they ship him off to the reservation."

"Reservation?" Al tilts his head to the side, curious.

"Zimmerman was saying that the government is rounding up 'undesirables' and shipping them off someplace. I bet by morning, they'll have Roy on a train to one of those places."

"But why would they do that?! We haven't done anything to anybody!"

"They don't care. All they know is that we don't fit into their perfect ideal and they want us out."

"Then we need to get to police station tonight, before they ship him off! We may never be able to find him after that!"

Ed looks to his brother, "You're the one who says we can't go rushing off into things. Just take a seat and take a breath."

Al lets his shoulders slump, quieting down, the sounds of Zimmerman's poundings filling the void. Al quietly walks from the closet door and sits down in the armchair across from the sofa. He draws in a long breath and slowly lets it out, letting his head fall into his hands, staring down at the floor. His breath is shaky.

"…We just can't ever get away from it, can we? This is just like what the military did to the Ishbalans, shoving them off into camps…"

Ed is silent. He knows that Al is right.

The silence grew as Zimmerman tires out, ceasing his pounding.

It is just Ed and Al and their silence now…

Neither of them says a word. They sit there, letting the night wear on, the few seconds of silence stretching on like an eternity, feeling as though every second spent not planning is a vital moment wasted.

Finally, Ed speaks. "The train is our best bet."

Al looks up at him.

"The police station is heavily armed. And a prison camp would be heavily guarded, too. The weak point is the joint between the two – the train to transport the prisoners. It wouldn't be any different than we fought off Bald and his rebels when they tried to attack General Hakuro."

"Ed, that's world's away from our current situation," Al protests. "For starters, we had Hughes and the others for back up; and now we don't have our alchemy to help us the same as we did then."

Ed sighs through his nose, "You're right about that. But still – you figure there might only be one or two guards per train car. We only need to find out which one Roy is on. Take out the guards quickly and quietly. And then jump the train."

"But how will we know which train car he's on? Or for that matter, which train they put him on?"

Ed thinks for a moment, concentrating hard while staring down at the floor. "We'd either have to stake out the police station, the train station, or both. But I don't like the idea of splitting up…"

"So what should we do?"

"The train station would be too hectic. There's so many people moving in and out that Roy would get lost in the crowd. However, we know that they _have_ to move him out of the police station. If we just concentrate on that, then we can follow the police car to the train depot."

"To do that, we'd need a car of our own."

Again, the great big grin comes back to Ed's face, "Oh don't worry. I get the feeling Zimmerman won't mind if we take his car. Would you Zimmerman?" he shouts to the closet, and the banging starts up again.

The darkness encroaches the whole of the land, and yet the twittering of songbirds begins to arise slowly out of the night, heralding the coming of the dawn. Ed and Al sit quietly in the car, tucked safely away in the darkness of the alley, keeping a vigilant eye on the police station across the street.

Al's head begins to fall, his eyes heavy, but quickly he sits up straight, trying to keep his wits about him. The first streaks of light are coming to life in the sky, and neither he nor Ed has slept.

He wants to ask, _How much longer?_ But he knows that his brother doesn't know the answer either. He glances over at him. Ed stares at the door of the police station, watching it like a hawk. Al could have sworn that it had been a solid two minutes before Ed ever blinked.

And then Ed moves, "There!" he says in a harsh whisper. Al quickly looks out the windshield.

Two police officers are ushering a man down the front steps of the station, a black bag covering the man's head. A third officer is opening the back of a wagon, and the man is pushed inside.

"Are you sure that's him?" Al asks. "We can't see his face."

"That's got to be him!"

"But what if it's not? What if he's still inside?"

Ed grits his teeth, "But what if that is him? We can't just sit here!"

"I'll stay here."

"No! I'm not leaving you here! What if you get caught?!"

"I want to leave you alone on that train as much as you want to leave me here. But we can't both leave the police station. If Roy is still inside, they might transport him out while we're both on the train."

"Dammit," Ed knows his brother is right, and time is running out, for the police wagon revs to life. "Quick! Get out! I'll follow them!"

Al opens the door and hops out as quick as he can.

"And Al," Ed says to him. Al looks back into the car. Ed looks at him and says, "Be careful."

Al smiles back at him, "Speak for yourself. You be careful."

Edward smiles back. And then he turns back towards the windshield, turning the key in the ignition, the vehicle springing to life.

As the police wagon takes off, Edward follows after it.

Silently he cruises, trying to keep his distance from the police wagon, but not so far as to not keep an eye on it. Roy is in there. He knows he is. He has to be…

After a long drive, the train depot is finally in view. The wagon pulls up to the platform, slowing to a halt. Ed knows he can't park in the clearing lest he be seen. He looks around and spots a nearby supply shed and brings his car to a stop in behind it.

Ever so quietly, ever so gently, he opens the door and steps out onto the gravel beneath his feet.

"Hey!" someone shouts.

Ed freezes.

The voice is yards away, coming from the platform. "What'cha got there?"

"A prisoner for transport."

"Name?"

"Roy Mustang."

Edward's heart leaps! It really is Roy! He has to get over there quick!

Keeping low, Ed virtually crawls around the shed, praying that the sun would rise just a little bit slower, keeping him covered by darkness.

All he can see are silhouettes – the outline of the depot, shadows as men move back and forth along the platform, a billow of smoke arising from the steam engine. Ed can still hear the men conversing but can't hear them for the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. Closer and closer he gets – CLANG! He hits a trash bin!

The men look over and Ed quickly ducks behind the large can, holding his breath.

"Damn dogs," he hears the man say. "Anyway, what were you saying?"

Edward finally takes a breath. He waits a moment, then peers over the top of the trash can. The wagon is still there. Good! He squints his eyes, trying to see through the darkness – two of the policemen are still in the front seat. That means the third one must be guarding the back.

As quickly as he can, Ed rushes out from his cover, making a beeline straight for the wagon. He skids to a halt and ducks down, staying on the side of the vehicle, but ducking low so as not to be spotted by the cop in the front see via the side mirror. Ed glances under the vehicle and can see the third officer's feet. He can hear the jangling of keys.

It's now or never.

Edward jumps up, running around to the back of the wagon, and punches the officer square in the jaw! The back of the wagon is already unlocked, and Ed whips open the doors.

"Roy! –"

But it is empty.

The train whistle sounds its shrill banshee screech, and with a mighty chug the metal beast moves forward. Ed looks over in horror. Roy must already be on the train!

He runs up the platform steps, passing the station manager who shouts after him, "Hey! Who are you?!"

Ed ignores him, desperately trying to keep up with the train, the cars already picking up speed. The last car is already passing by him!

The platform grows shorter and shorter before him, his heavy boots tramping down the wooden planks with heavy thuds, matching the chugs of the train.

"ROY!"

With a great leap, Ed jumps off of the platform, stretching his arm out towards the rail on the very back of the last car, his metal fingertips centimeters away from the metal railing.

But not close enough.

He lands roughly on the metal tracks, wooden splinters from the railroad ties scratching his face, the gravel scraping his skin.

The train's whistle begins to fade into the distance. Ed sits up, watching as the caboose grows smaller and smaller, vanishing into the darkness.


	9. Blood and Barbed Wired

Monotonous. It's the only word Roy can think of to describe the sound he's hearing – monotonous – the constant thumping and grinding of the heavy iron wheels against the onward-stretching train tracks.

Once or twice, the sound had stopped when the train pulled into a station, more men being packed into the train car, they just as delirious as Roy had been when he had been shoved inside. So brief – so brief was the amount of time the door to the car was open. He'd have made a break for it, were he not chained to a pole on the inside of the train car. His hands were aching, the strange simultaneous sensation of both numbness and sharp tingling pricking at his fingers, his blood having a hard time circulating due to the constricting handcuffs. Roy stares forlornly at his blank finger. Not but a few hours ago, it proudly held his Masonic ring. Upon being taken to the station, the police seized it from him. "Seized it," they called it. "Stole it" is what they did.

And again, the monotonous sound follows as the train chugs to life again.

It's getting hotter now. It had been cool in the early morning when the police finally took him from his cell, shoved him into the back of a wagon, and then lugged him to the train station. Strangely, there in the darkness, as the train was pulling out of the station, leaving the city behind, Roy could have sworn that he heard Ed's voice…

Surely just the wee morning hours playing on his tired mind.

But now, now it's getting hotter as the sun rises higher and higher into the sky, the air of the train car stifling, the smell of sweat clinging to everything, a visible haze lingering above their heads.

The train once more comes to a halt. Roy wonders if it's at all possible for the police to shove any more men into a single train car, it already becoming impossible to breathe, the thick humidity weighing heavy on his lungs. But no – this time, when the doors are opened, and a cool rush of air sweeps in, men in brown uniforms begin grabbing the passengers by their arms, forcing them one by one out of the train car.

Finally, when Roy is the only one left, still shackled to the pole, a soldier enters and removes his cuffs, ushering him out of the car as well.

As Roy steps out of the car, glad to finally be able to breathe again, he feels that gladness slipping away as quickly as it had come. He looks around, taking it all in – tall fences on all sides, barbed wire wrapped around their tops. Guard towers stand at all corners, staring down menacingly at the people slowly trundling along below. Nowhere is there not a soldier with a rifle in his hands or a gun in his holster.

The guard ushering Roy along shouts to another guard, "Hey, Sergeant Hughes! This is the last of them!"

Standing not far from the train is a man with a clipboard. He is tall with black hair and a thin, wiry, yet well-groomed beard. He adjusts his glasses as he looks up from his clipboard. "It better be! I've got enough prisoners to catalogue!"

The guard pushes Roy forward towards Sergeant Hughes, and with a wave of the hand and a sing-song tone, the guard teases, "Have fun!" and takes off.

Sergeant Hughes is in a bit of a huff. "Am I the only one who actually bothers with all the red-tape bookkeeping around here?" He sighs, "Whatever," and then to the crowd of men before him he says, "All right! Listen up! Form a single-file line! Tell me your name, and then move along!"

Roy hears a little boy's voice rise up from the front of the crowd, "I don't understand! Why are we here?!"

Sergeant Hughes points his pen at the child, "Hey! Keep it quiet! Single-file, now!"

Monotony takes over again, only now instead of the sound of the train tracks, the muffled sounds of shuffling feet fills Roy's ears as the men of the crowd comply to the command of the sergeant before them. Slowly, the line moves forward, a little more, and a little more, with a shuffle followed by silence. And then another shuffle and another silence.

Inevitably, Roy reaches the front of the line. The sergeant, scribbling on his clipboard, ignores him for a moment, and then finally asks, "Name?"

Roy is silent, staring begrudgingly up at the tall man.

Sergeant Hughes finally looks up from his clipboard and looks the prisoner in the eyes. "Hey, you deaf or something? I asked you what your name is."

Firmly, Roy demands, "Tell me why we're here."

Sergeant Hughes grimaces at him. "Give me you name, and I'll _check_."

Roy knows it will make no difference in his situation, but still he says, "Roy Mustang."

Sergeant Hughes flips through the papers until he comes to the right one. "Mustang… Yup, here we are. Freemason, huh? Well that's pretty self-explanatory."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Roy can feel the hairs on the back of his neck rising up.

Sergeant Hughes scoffs, "Don't play innocent. Everyone knows that the financiers who drove our country into the ground are all Freemasons."

Roy tries to say something against this, but his mouth is barely open before Hughes is shouting to someone off to the side.

"Red triangle for this one! Next!"

And Roy is pushed off to the side, ushered along to a nearby table where men, prisoners themselves, hand out clothing – striped uniforms, nothing more than pajamas really, the thin material looking as though it can't keep out the tiniest bit of cold. Roy catches a glimpse of one of the prisoner's chests – on it is a small triangle patch, red, point-down, sewn to the front of his clothes. Roy looks around. Many of the prisoners here have the same red triangle. Others have blue, some have black, and here and there, Roy can spot prisoners with yellow patches that look like the Star of David.

A uniform is shoved into Roy's hands, and again, he is forcibly pushed along. Here he sees now that all of the new prisoners with whom he arrived are removing their clothing, being forced to strip down and put on the striped garb. The guards pick up the prisoners old clothes and toss them onto a bonfire at the center of the crowd, the last remaining bits of their identity being burnt into ashes.

The little boy from before, now in his striped prison uniform, clings desperately to his old clothing as a guard fights to wring them from his hands, the boy clutching the clothes tightly to his chest. "No! Let go!" the little boy cries.

A taller boy next to him shouts, "Let 'em go, Rick! They're just clothes!"

The guard rips the clothing out of the boy's hands and tosses them into the fire.

"Well, well!" Another guard pipes up. "Looks like the little runt was hiding something underneath those rags!" The guard reaches for the boy's neck and quickly pulls from it a silver necklace.

"No!" the little boy, Rick, jumps after it, too short to reach.

The taller boy, now riled as well, jumps at the guard. "Hey! Give that back! That's from our mom!"

But the guards begin beating the children down with batons.

Roy moves to stop them, but he feels a hand grab his arm. He looks next to him to see another prisoner, one whose heavy eyes tell of how long he's been here. The prisoner solemnly shakes his head, and Roy can't help but feel helpless, his stomach dropping inside of him, he feeling as though all adrenaline and gumption have instantly been sucked out of him.

The beating doesn't last for long, and the guards leave, cackling over their small silver plunder.

The older boy is crouched over the younger boy, protecting him. The guards gone, he slowly moves to the side, shaky and achy. The little boy bursts, "Leo! Are you okay?!"

Leo sputters, "You should have tucked that stupid thing into your shirt…"

"But then they'd have thrown it into the fire!"

"The shirt you're wearing now, dummy!"

A short while later, as the thick black smoke continues billowing above their heads, the prisoners have been made to stand in formation, creating a small rectangle, like soldiers on a parade ground. After much waiting, finally, someone approaches.

He too, like all the soldiers here, wears a brown uniform. A black hat is seated upon his dirty blond hair, light brown streaks running through his locks here and there. His boots and pants are black, same as the hat, and same as the tie that is tacked down with a shiny red button with the swastika on it, a red armband with the same emblem on his arm.

He smiles a sly smile, like a garden snake looking at caged mice. "Ah," he chimes, "I see the new arrivals have been processed."

Sergeant Hughes salutes, "Yes sir."

"Very good." The officer, never having taken his eyes off the prisoners, now speaks loudly enough for them all to hear, his voice as snakely as his smile, but with a strange gloss to it, like a red candy coating on a rotten apple. "Welcome! You'll forgive our perhaps _alarming_ means of bringing you here. I admit, it's all rather sudden. But we are doing what needs to be done here. All of you must understand that the greater good of our nation is at hand. If you love this country, then you will do as you are told. I assure you, as long as you follow the rules, no harm will come to you."

Roy narrows his eyes knowingly.

The officer continues, "I am Lieutenant Zolf Kimblee. You will address me as either Lieutenant or Sir. You will not speak unless spoken to. You will wake every morning at the sound of the bugle, and go to bed every night after a long day of work. Stay in line, and we'll all get along just fine."

Though no one amongst the crowd of prisoners says anything, a simple glance at their faces reveals that they have no faith in the words put forth by this man. Even he can read their distrust, their eyes to the ground, the corners of their mouths downward, and Kimblee takes a strange delight in it all.

He continues, even more loudly to make sure his is the only voice they hear, "You will now be divided into your barracks. I hope you find them comfortable. If there's anything you need, please, don't hesitate to tell me," Kimblee says with the utmost sweetness that cannot cover his seething sarcasm. He then looks over at Hughes and gives a nod, "Sergeant."

"Sir!"

And with that, Kimblee walks away, Sergeant Hughes taking over. Hughes once again looks over the crowd, calling out, "Listen for your name! I'll be calling out your barrack numbers, so pay attention! I will **not** repeat myself!"

The barracks are even more depressing than the parade grounds. The bunks are stacked four beds high, barely enough room to slide in. The mattresses (if one could call them that) are taut pieces of canvas, like stiff hammocks. And there are easily twenty of these bunks crowded into this single hut.

Roy's head is still spinning from how fast everything is happening. Perhaps this is all just a bad dream, something caused by one of Al's experimental teas. Any second now, Roy'll wake up in bed to find that Whiskers has once again snuck his way into the house, his fur sending Roy into a sneezing fit. Al will be downstairs in the kitchen making breakfast, Ed will be at the table, reading the morning paper…

But the longer Roy stands here, looking into this dark, bleak room, the more he realizes… this is no dream…

Finally moving, Roy enters further into the barracks, looking around, deciding which of these small coffin-like cots he will choose to sleep in. He spies a top bed about halfway through the aisle of bunks – it's right next to a tiny slot of a window, no wider than a man's forearm, and no taller than a hand. It has no glass, clearly so that the soldiers can listen in on them at any time. But still – a small bit of breeze, Roy thinks, is just what he needs if this barrack is anything at all like the train car. He doesn't think his lungs can stand another suffocating experience like that.

Roy climbs the small, teetering ladder to the top of the bunk and looks the cot over. It seems all right, he supposes. But no sooner does he start to crawl into the bed before a soldier arrives at the front door shouting, "All right, you lot! You've had enough of break! Time to get to work!"

With a clink and a shink and a shuffle, the men of the camp chip away at the earth beneath their feet with pickaxes and shovels, guards ever nearby with rifles in their hands, scrutinizing the prisoners every movement. Roy, lifting a heavy shovelful of dirt to toss aside, sees no point in their digging of a ditch, say for keeping them busy and tiring them out.

Regardless, he says nothing. He's already seen what happens should someone speak out against the guards.

And as if on cue, suddenly one of the guards shouts out, "Hey! Watch what the hell you're doing!"

Roy looks over to see another prisoner cowering before the guard, "I-I'm sorry! It was an accident!"

The guard, the front of his shirt stained with dusty earth, hits the prisoner across his face with the butt of his rifle. "No excuses! Get back to work!"

His lip bleeding, the man doesn't even stop to wipe the blood away, but quickly scrambles to pick up his shovel and continue digging.

Roy sighs through his nose, looking back down into the ditch as he pushes the shovel further into the earth with his heel. Clearly, the best thing to do is to remain silent and try to be as invisible as possible. Do nothing, say nothing, to incur the wrath of the guards. Maybe they'll forget that he even exists. And then one day, should he escape, they'll never even notice his disappearance…

Survival.

That's all Roy can think about. Just like in the trenches, surviving is what is important. He can't help anyone if he's dead.

And Roy knows that there are those beyond these fences who need his help. Ed, Al, and everyone back at the Lodge. If the police are arresting Freemasons, then surely they've raided the Lodge. And if they've done that, then that means the bomb, the uranium bomb that Ed and Al spent so long searching for, has once again fallen back into the hands of the Worker's Party…

Roy grits his teeth and keeps digging.

The days become a blur, a monotonous, hellish blur. A bugle sounding before the sun even rises, a small bowl of gruel, and then back into the ditch. His hands are becoming blistered, filled with splinters that make every push of the shovel an agonizing experience. How deep and how long must this ditch be? And for what reason?

Roy looks around every chance he gets. He tries to take in the layout of the camp, memorizing the position of every building, of every guard tower, of the routes the guards take with their large shepherd guard dogs.

Roy can see there are other prisoners working on other projects, building more barracks it looks like. And what for? Did the Nazis really have that many enemies? Would the whole of the German nation end up behind barbed wire?

One barrack-building prisoner, lifting a large piece of lumber, falls to his hands and knees.

"Get up, you!" a guard shouts at him.

The man shuffles a little, seeming as though he is trying to stand, but to no avail.

Another soldier, with a guard dog on a leash, trots up, and with a whistle, allows the dog to run to the end of its leash, barking furiously at the fallen prisoner.

A sudden jolt of adrenaline causes the man to jump backwards, and fearing the foaming, snapping jaws before him, the prisoner is on his feet, his shaking knees barely keeping him upright.

"That's more like it!"

Roy looks away…

In the short semblances of breaks they do receive – their bowl of gruel in the morning and bowl of gruel in the evening – Roy notices that even amongst the prisoners there seems to be an air of animosity, each man clumping together with prisoners of the same triangle color. The blues stay with the blues, and the reds stay with the reds. Far from the front door where the guards stand watch, the yellows hide in the corner, murmuring Hebrew prayers before eating. The blacks, though, seem scattered amongst themselves, the color being a sort of catch-all for anyone who doesn't fit into any one particular category, Roy himself even unsure of what those categories are.

In the mess hall, Roy spies a man with a black triangle pushing the tall boy, Leo, he too wearing a black triangle. The man shouts, "You belong over there with the blues! I heard that's the color they use for immigrants!"

Leo shouts back at him, "We're not immigrants! We were BORN here! We're German!"

"Bullshit!" the prisoner shouts back, "If you're German, then how come you've got brown skin? You gypsies, then?"

"We're not gypsies either!"

"Hey!" a guard comes in between them, "The two of you sit down and shut up, or you'll both be put in solitary!"

Leo turns on his heel with a huff and returns to his table where sits the younger boy Rick, he silent and hunched over his bowl.

The nights are as bad as the days. So short is the amount of sleep they are granted, and how hard it is to fall asleep to the sounds of hacking coughs and groaning and even vomiting. Roy is thankful for the small window above his head, the sweet, crisp night air, though it smells of moor and mud, better and filled with far more hope than the smell of filth and disease clinging to the cots and bedposts and walls. Roy lifts his eyes to the window, looking out to the stars above. With half a chuckle, unsure if he is amused or sad, Roy now wishes to himself that he had paid more attention to his father when, while on their camping trips, he had told him how to navigate by stars. At least then, he might have some idea of where he is and how to get home.

Home.

Was it even still there? Or had the police burnt it to the ground? Were Ed and Al still there, waiting for him? Or had they done as he had told them and ran far away? Did they even understand the code he gave to them? They are not here in this camp, so surely they must have gotten away… unless… they were captured and taken somewhere else… or… even worse…

Roy holds his breath, trying to hold back the terrible thought and the tears attached to them. He closes his eyes tightly and takes a deep breath. Ed and Al are still out there. He knows they are.

Once more, the bugle sounds, and once more the prisoners arise, out of bed before even the sun has awoken.

Kimblee, in his warm soft bed, sits up and stretches. He throws off the covers and proceeds to start his daily routine. He puts on his well-pressed brown and black uniform, making sure his armband is straight. He runs a comb through his blond hair, proudly looking it over. But then he stops momentarily, looking down at the brush – the more brittle strands of hair have broken off, littering both the brush and the shoulders of his uniform.

He glowers at them, and then brushes them off his shoulders. He puts his black hat on top of his head, and now, fully dressed, feels confident again.

He leaves his room, entering the hall. Coming out of a nearby room is an older officer, heavy set in both his gut and cheeks, this man wearing a fully black uniform. His thinning blond hair compliments his bright blue eyes, the edges etched with age. He closes his door behind him as Kimblee greets him.

"Good morning, Commander Amsel."

"Ah, Lieutenant Kimblee," the commander responds, "Good morning. I'm ready for a cup of coffee, how about you?"

"Of course, sir," Kimblee agrees. "It would seem that not everything that comes out of Africa is savage, eh?"

Commander Amsel laughs, "Yes, I don't think modern civilization could even function without those little African berries! So, what's on the agenda today? Any idea?"

"Of course, sir," Kimblee gives a polite nod, "I put today's itinerary on your desk last night. It's already ready to go."

"Always on top of everything, Lieutenant. I'm quite proud of you." The commander gives him a hearty pat on the shoulder. "If it weren't for those brown eyes of yours, you'd make a hell of an SS officer."

Kimblee humbly nods, "Yes, it is a regrettable fate. I'm a silver medal trying to be gold."

Once again, the commander laughs, "Ah, don't take it so hard! You're still the best damn SA officer I've ever met. You're going places, son. Come on, let's get to the mess hall before the enlistees eat up all the cheese. I swear they're worse than mice!"

Kimblee gives a laugh (an obviously fake laugh, but a laugh nonetheless).

Soldiers all sit around tables, chitting and chatting, digging into hard-boiled eggs and seeded breads. One soldier nearly chokes from surprise when out of nowhere, a picture pops up in front of him, seemingly out of thin air.

"Have I shown you this one yet?" Sergeant Hughes beams, clinging to the picture, "This is Gracia showing Elise how to arrange flowers! Isn't it just the most precious thing you've ever seen?"

The soldier coughs, hacking up the bread lodged in his throat. With a gruff grumble he says, "Sergeant, can't this wait until after I've had my coffee? I'm too tired for this."

Sergeant Hughes shoves the picture closer to the poor man, "Then just look into Elise's sweet eyes! Those baby blues will fill your heart with happiness and perk you right up!"

The soldier nervously chuckles, "They look kinda green to me…"

"Sergeant Hughes," Kimblee's voice arises. Hughes looks over to see Lieutenant Kimblee is standing there, the commander at his side. Kimblee continues, "For the last time – the mess hall is not your personal gallery to show off your family photos."

A little childishly, Hughes shoves the picture into his pocket. "Hmph! I'm just trying to keep up the men's morale a little," he says, and then quickly tacks on, "Sir," nearly having forgotten to address the lieutenant as such.

"That's very nice," Kimblee says condescendingly, "But adorable pictures of cute little girls does not make for tough, strong men." He smirks, his eyes catlike, "We don't want them to all end up soft like you."

"Hey!" Hughes defends himself, "Just because I care about my family doesn't make me soft!"

"All right," Commander Amsel says as he pulls out a chair to sit down, "Settle down, you two." He then addresses Kimblee, "What were we talking about, Lieutenant?"

Lieutenant Kimblee takes a seat as well, "Building Five, sir."

"Ah yes," the commander says while he pulls food from the communal plate onto his own. "When can we expect full operation?"

"With any luck, by the end of the week, sir – granted that no more prisoners die."

Amsel pops a small chunk of cheese into his mouth, and through a full mouth complains, "They just don't make workers like they used to. Hell, the Jews built the pyramids – you'd think they could handle building a few buildings." He then looks over at Hughes, "We're expecting more new arrivals today?"

Hughes nods, "Yes, commander."

"Good. Be sure to take things easy on them. I have special plans for this batch, and they're no good to me worn out."

Hughes is unsure of what his commander is planning. Nonetheless, something about it all makes his stomach turn.

As the day wears on, Roy is glad that the building being built next to him is finally tall enough to provide some shade from the beating sun. He hears noise and shuffling coming from the front gates, and sees that more prisoners are arriving, these ones, all of them, being handed the uniforms with yellow stars on them. Like most things around here, he begins to ignore them.

But then a sharp CRACK and a cry hit his ears. Roy looks over at the building project beside him, and sees a soldier with a long riding crop standing over someone – the little boy, Rick, who Roy has seen around. Rick cowers on the ground, covering his face with his arms as the soldier towers over him, riding crop held aloft.

"You wanna break?!" The soldier shouts, "How 'bout I break you arm! Is that enough of a break for you?!"

The soldier whips the riding crop across the boy's arms and head, Rick crying out, "Please! I'm sorry! I just wanted to get a drink of water! Please stop! I'm sorry!"

"Oh, I'll make you sorry!"

Roy clenches tightly to the handle of his shovel, ignoring the searing pain of his blisters. He looks back down at the ground, digging back into it, trying to ignore the CRACK, CRACK of the crop and the shrill cries that follow. Where was that other boy – Leo, was it? He always shows up to take care of the younger one. But with each crack and cry, Roy can feel a growing fire inside of him.

Suddenly, he throws down his shovel and clambers out of the pit. A guard there shouts, "Hey! What are y-!" And before he can finish, Roy shoves him aside and the guard topples into the pit, landing roughly on top of the prisoners therein.

The soldier in front of Rick raises his long riding crop once more, ready to strike, when Roy jumps in between the two of them, outstretching his arms as he faces the guard. "Hey, you!" The guard bellows, "Get outta my way!"

"Can't you see he's had enough?!" Roy roars at the soldier.

"Oh, a hero, huh?" The soldier deviously says. "Let me guess – Why don't I pick on someone my own size?" Without another word, the guard smacks Roy across the face with his thin weapon, Roy feeling the stinging of the leather across his cheek.

Quickly seizing his opportunity, Rick scrambles to his feet and runs away, going inbehind the building.

Roy continues to stand there, the soldier relentlessly smacking him back and forth. Everyone in the general vicinity has stopped what they're doing and has taken to watching the scene. Even some of the guards seem impressed, one leaning over to the other, whispering, "Five Marks says the corporal tires out before the prisoner does."

"You're on."

"All right!" Sergeant Hughes' voice rises as he comes onto the scene, "Enough! What's going on over here?"

The corporal looks to the sergeant, "This man was interfering with my punishing of another prisoner!"

Another guard, covered in dirt and rubbing his head, adds, "And he pushed me into the ditch!"

Hughes grumbles, "Jeez, you sound like a bunch of children." He roughly grabs Roy by the arm and begins clasping handcuffs around his wrists, "Come on, you. Looks like you're taking a trip to Solitary."

Roy is taken to a small building adjacent to the soldier's quarters. The whole of it is brick and steel, with no windows – no means of letting in the sunshine or fresh air, say for the single door leading into the place – and naught but a single light bulb lighting the long hallway, giving the whole space a dark and dreary feel.

The sergeant leads Roy down the dark hallway, wooden doors lining both sides of the corridor. Were there other prisoners locked away in here as well? Why else go so far?

About halfway down the hall, Sergeant Hughes opens one of the doors and ushers Roy inside. Herein is a small room, again, only a single light bulb lighting it. The room is divided in two, the back half of it enclosed with large steel bars.

Roy sourly looks at it. "Even inmates in prison have benches in their cells," he says, referring to the lack of a sitting/sleeping space, for there is nothing on the other side of the bars but brick flooring.

"Keep quiet," Hughes demands whilst unlocking the cell. He pulls back on the large gate and shoves Roy, cuffs still on, inside, and then he slams the bars shut behind him.

Roy glares at the soldier. "How can you do this?"

"Hey, you broke the rules – this is what happens."

Roy clasps the bars, looking through them, "I mean how can you sit idly by while people are suffering? How can you keep a clean conscious while people are starving to death?"

Hughes, scowling at the prisoner, mutters, "I'm just doing my job. I've got nothing to do with the decision-making." He turns to leave the room, Roy calling after him,

"Decisions like abusing children? That's your job? How can you let that happen? Don't you have any children?"

The sergeant does not face the prisoner as he silently stands in front of the wooden door. And after a moment, and without a word, he finally opens the door and then exits, leaving Roy by himself, alone in the cell.

Roy is unsure of how long he has been sitting here, unable to tell the time due to the lack of sunshine. His stomach is angry with him. _You idiot! You couldn't wait until AFTER dinner to piss off the guards?_

He curls his legs in towards his chest, ignoring the rumbles issuing from his gut. He can't take it anymore – the hunger, the filth, the sickness, the despair. It was like the trenches – only it was different this time. He, and all those soldier who had fought alongside him – they had _chosen_ to be there, to fight that fight, to suffer those things for a greater cause. But here – here were civilians, innocents, who had no say, people who did not _choose_ this, even if the officers in charge _claimed_ that this was for the greater good of the nation.

Whereas in the trenches the hopelessness and desolation had broken Roy's spirit, now instead, he can feel an ember of rage growing into a fire, consuming him. He isn't going to just sit idly by. He isn't going to be silent and invisible. He knows that there are people beyond these fences that need his help, that need him to survive and get free – but there are people _inside_ the fence, here, NOW, and they need his help, too.

Roy once more looks down to his blank finger, envisioning the Masonic ring he had beheld many times over. Wisdom. Honor. And Brotherly Love. While perhaps it will be unwise to incur the wrath of the guards, Roy knows in his heart that it is the honorable thing to do to stand up for his fellow prisoners. He mutters to himself,

"We're all brothers in this fight…"

Commander Amsel sits at his desk, going over reports, signing off on things here and there, dividing papers into several piles, looking rather flustered by it all. He sighs.

"I should hire a secretary…"

There is a gentle knock on the door.

"Come on in," Amsel says. Kimblee enters. "Ah, Lieutenant. What can I do for you?"

Kimblee lifts a stack of papers he carries in his hands, "Today's reports, sir."

Amsel slumps his shoulders, "Oh great, more paperwork."

Kimblee gives a polite chuckle, "If it pleases the commander, I can sign off on most of these."

"Would you? I'm really behind."

Kimblee gives a slight bow, "Of course, sir. There is this report, though, that came in today. I feel you should look at it immediately."

Amsel holds out his hand as Kimblee passes the small folder to him. He opens it up and looks it over, reading pieces and parts aloud, "…Mustang, huh? 'Freemason.' 'Retired captain.' 'Not known to be a rabble rouser.' Mmhmm…" he hums as he continues reading silently. "Well, he's been put in Solitary for the night. Sounds like he's been taken care of."

"But is Solitary really effective?" Kimblee asks, sounding as though he already knows the answer to his own question. "That just gives him more time to think of how to cause more trouble. If one prisoner stands up and gets off with a punishment as easy as solitary confinement, what's to stop other prisoners from following in his footsteps?"

Amsel strokes his chin, his large, flabby jowls jiggling as he does. "You have a point. He should be made example of. Very well – in the morning, we'll parade him out to the stockade and have him publicly whipped. That ought to keep the rest of the prisoners from getting any bright ideas."

Again, a polite, albeit pompous, chuckle arises from Kimblee. "Forgive my saying so, sir, but there's no need for a violent spectacle. After all, we are the more refined race. Why should we stoop to the level of brutish savagery? That would make us no better than they."

"What then do you recommend?"

Kimblee grins, "I think it better if we deal with this quickly and quietly – a hanging at dawn."

Amsel is slightly taken aback, "A hanging? For a first offence?"

"Like I said, commander – we need to send a clear message to these people that we are in charge, and that insubordination will not be tolerated. A hanging is quick, clean, and bloodless. Done properly, a hanging will snap a man's neck and kill him instantly, rather than letting him choke and die slowly. It really is the humane route."

The commander twirls his pen between his fingers, looking down at his desk, "Well… I suppose you have a point. Very well. Have a gallow ready by dawn. But I still want all the prisoners there. Violent or not, this man should be made a spectacle of."

Kimblee salutes, "Very well, sir." And he turns and leaves, that same snakely smile crawling its way up his face.

The cold floor is somehow strangely refreshing from the canvas cot. Though it is by no means comfortable, Roy is glad for the silence. No coughing, no groaning, no sobbing. He can finally hear his own dreams this night.

Too short.

Too short though was this night, for already, a guard is turning the key in the lock of the cell. Roy groggily comes to life. Did the bugle sound already? Perhaps it did and he simply hadn't heard it through the thick brick walls.

The guard lifts him to his feet, "Come on, you."

Once more, Roy is lead down the dark hallway. He exits through the front door, and is surprised to see so many people out on the grounds. Why are they here? Has breakfast already passed? But why are they all looking at him?

And then he sees it: Standing before him is a simple wooden structure, tall, with a rope hanging from it and a wooden barrel underneath it. A guard is fashioning the rope into a noose.

"What is this?!" Roy shouts.

"Silence!" Lieutenant Kimblee orders, he standing at the head of the crowd, Commander Amsel next to him. "Bring the prisoner forward!"

Roy is pushed along, he dragging his heels into the mud. Another guard comes from the other side to help his comrade pull the prisoner to the gallows.

So this is how it ends… After he had just promised himself that he would survive, that he would help the people trapped here in this place…

The rope comes closer, silhouetted against the dark grey sky. Roy is turned, forced to face the crowd of both prisoners and soldiers. Standing amongst the soldiers next to Amsel, Roy spots the sergeant, Hughes – and he glares angrily at him, wondering if this is his doing. The sergeant looks away, unable to look Roy in the eyes.

The noose is thrown around is neck, and Roy is forced to stand atop the wooden barrel. Looking out into the crowd of faces, Roy sees one more face – the little boy Rick, his eyes filled with tears as he clings to his brother Leo, the older boy, staring at the ground, unable to watch.

Commander Amsel steps in front of Roy, looking him dead in the eye. The commander proclaims, "Roy Mustang! For insubordination, and for interfering with the operations of discipline of this camp, you are sentenced to death by hangi-"

"Wait!"

The commander looks over his shoulder to see a private running up to him. The private quickly juts out a piece of paper, his speech smattered with pants as he takes in breaths, "Sir! This telegram just came in!"

Commander Amsel looks it over. Kimblee peeks over his commander's shoulder, reading the telegram, and then the lieutenant spurts aloud, surprised, "Not to be killed?!"

A mixture of sighs and excitement rise from the crowd, the guards amongst them ordering, "Be quiet!"

Rick's eyes light up with hope and gladness.

Commander Amsel reads the telegram aloud, but only so that those immediately next to him can hear: "Mustang, Roy, is an ally of the known conspirator against the Party, Elric, Edward. Both are suspects in the murder of a top-level scientist, as well as the disappearance of a top secret weapon. The prisoner is not to be killed, for he may contain valuable information."

_Information?_ Roy's heart begins beating fast, fluttering with hope. _That means that they don't have the bomb! That means they didn't catch Ed and Al!_

Kimblee grits his teeth, unhappy with this turn of events. He growls lowly, "Commander – we can't just let him off the hook like this! What sort of message will that send to the rest of the prisoners? That they can just get away with whatever they want?"

The commander folds up the telegram and puts it in his pocket. "That is true. But we have to operate within the orders we've been given. Corporal!" he shouts to a nearby soldier.

"Yes, sir?"

"Bring me a whip!" As the corporal trots away to fetch the item, Amsel looks at the guards who just hoisted Roy onto the barrel and orders, "Take him down, and instead tie him to that barrel. Remove his shirt."

The guards yank Roy down from where he stands, he feeling as though at least one of his ankles has twisted upon impact. The soldiers rip his shirt off his back and force him down onto his knees, forcing his handcuffed arms over the top of the barrel and then secure him down with the rope previously wrapped around his neck.

The commander holds out his hand as the corporal arrives with the whip. He says to Mustang, "You will **still** be made an example out of. After this, you'll have _wished_ that we hanged you instead."

Kimblee clears his throat, "Sir, if I may?"

The commander rolls his eyes, "Yes, lieutenant?"

Once more, that sickly, snakely smile crosses Kimblee's lips. "As I've said before, it's not becoming for people such as ourselves, the sophisticated, blond Aryans, to stoop to such savagery. This sort of work belongs to the lesser soldiers amongst us." He turns and stares straight at Hughes. "Have one of the Black-Hairs do it. Let's not dirty our own hands."

Hughes narrows his eyes, not wanting to be drawn into this mess.

Kimblee continues, "Come now, Sergeant. You're not **soft**, are you?"

Commander Amsel holds out the whip to Hughes, "Sergeant."

Sergeant Hughes steps forward and takes the whip from his commander. He approaches the prisoner, his bare back exposed.

Roy tenses his muscles, waiting for what is to come, the silence and being unable to see his assailant killing him.

Hughes clenches tightly the handle of the whip. Feeling the eyes of both his commander and lieutenant boring through the back of his head, Hughes waits no longer, and he swings the whip back and lashes out at the prisoner.

Like a shot of lightning, pain streaks across Roy's back, coming out his mouth in the form of a scream. He can feel blood trickling down his back, tickling almost – but the sensation is overpowered by another searing slice of leather across his skin. It digs into his bones – his spine, his ribs, his shoulder blades. Once or twice the whip even curls over the tops of his shoulders and rakes him across his collarbone, or around his waist and laps at his stomach.

He tries. He tries so hard not to scream, but the screams still come, escaping from his mouth against his will.

With every crack, the prisoners wince, Rick looking away, burying his face into his brother's shirt, Leo holding him close.

Kimblee takes it all in, enjoying himself immensely.

That night – after a long, hard day of work, still being forced to labor with his injuries – Roy lays belly-down on his cot, his head towards the window to take in the cool night air. His back still pulsates, and he can feel his wounds oozing.

He closes his eyes, knowing that sleep cannot come fast enough. But then he reopens them as a slight shuffling catches his ears. He looks to the ladder and spies tiny hands on the edge of his bed. Up pops the little boy, Rick.

There is a moment of awkward silence between the two, Roy unsure of why the boy is here, and the little boy looking almost too nervous to talk.

Finally he sputters, "Uh… Mr. Mustang?"

"Yes?" Roy asks.

"I… I wanted to thank you… for saving me yesterday," Rick tells him. "And I'm really sorry about what happened!"

Roy shakes his head kindly, "It's not your fault."

"Still…" Rick casts his eyes downward. "Thank you. Really."

Roy smiles softly at him, "You're welcome."

Even after everything, the stars seemed to shine a little brighter that night.


	10. The Librarian and the Watchmaker

The sun is barely rising, the sky turning to a light grey-blue hue, but the land is still covered in dark shadows.

The train whistle sounds its shrill banshee screech, and with a mighty chug the metal beast moves forward. Ed looks over in horror. Roy must still be on the train!

He runs up the platform steps, passing the station manager who shouts after him, "Hey! Who are you?!"

Ed ignores him, desperately trying to keep up with the train, the cars already picking up speed. The last car is already passing by him!

The platform grows shorter and shorter before him, his heavy boots tramping down the wooden planks with heavy thuds, matching the chugs of the train.

"ROY!"

With a great leap, Ed jumps off of the platform, stretching his arm out towards the rail on the very back of the last car, his metal fingertips centimeters away from the metal railing.

But not close enough.

He lands roughly on the metal tracks, wooden splinters from the railroad ties scratching his face, the gravel scraping his skin.

The train's whistle begins to fade into the distance. Ed sits up, watching as the caboose grows smaller and smaller, vanishing into the darkness.

A numbness covers Ed's whole body, blanketing his mind. The train is getting away. And there's nothing he can do about it.

"Hey, you!"

He hears a man shout, and Ed looks over to see the two police officers, who had previously been sitting inside the police wagon, now running down the platform towards him.

His mind springs back to life, scrambling as to what to do. Seeing them draw their guns, Ed instinctively tucks and rolls out of the way, going underneath the large wooden platform for cover. Rolling back into an upright position on his knees, Ed, ready to fight, claps his hands together.

And then he stops, saying aloud to himself, "What the hell am I doing?"

His thoughts are cut short as he hears the officers overhead, they jumping down from the platform and onto the gravel below. On hands and knees, Ed quickly begins scurrying to the opposite end of the platform.

"We know you're there!" An officer shouts at him. "Come out with your hands up!"

_They can't see me! _Ed thinks to himself, still rushing to the other end of the platform, thankful for the dark cover it provides. _Come on, sun! Just rise a little bit slower! Don't light up things just yet!_

He makes it to the other end and, getting to his feet, takes off running.

"There he goes!" The other officer shouts. They open fire.

Ed barrels straight towards the police wagon, its doors left wide open when the officers had jumped out to come after him. He dives inside, not even closing the door behind him, and turns the key, thankfully left in the ignition. The wagon roars to life.

"Hey!" he hears the officers shout, and like a shot, Ed stomps down on the gas pedal and the wagon takes off, the doors slamming shut as he speeds away.

Again, the officers open fire, having to aim at their own vehicle, but as the suspect speeds further and further away, the wagon becomes an indiscernible shadow amongst the backdrop of silhouetted trees.

Ed swerves to the right and he begins to drive alongside the train tracks. _I can still get to Roy! _He pushes the pedal as far down as it will go, picking up speed. Unlike a car, the train can't go anywhere that the tracks don't. It HAS to stay on the tracks. Follow the tracks, find Roy!

But Ed suddenly gasps and hits the brakes. Skidding to a halt, the tires just barely stop short of a steep drop-off. Ed gazes out across the deep chasm, the train tracks stretching out over a long bridge. As if something like this is going to stop him—

Ed shifts the wagon into reverse, and backing up slightly, he then drives forward, slowly perching the tires atop the tracks. He has to move fast enough to keep ahead of the cops, who, no doubt by now, have discovered the car that Ed used to get to the station and are surely following behind him. But he can't drive too fast. The slightest veer to the right or to the left could mean toppling over the side of the bridge and into the ravine.

Slowly, with a bump, and a bump, and a bump, the wagon precariously teeters over the tracks, inching along towards the other side, a rushing river gushing along below. Ed keeps his breath steady, his eyes ever concentrated on the metal path before him.

Slowly but surely, he reaches the other side in one piece, and once back on solid ground, Ed again revs the engine and punches the gas, speeding off alongside the tracks.

How much time? How much time did that waste? How fast was the train travelling? How long would it take him to catch up to it?

Running a million calculations in his head at once, Ed lays his weight further on the pedal, as if more pressure will make the already to-the-floor mechanism make the wagon go faster.

It's not long before he lets up on the gas though, for he comes to something even worse than a bridge – a junction.

"Dammit!" Ed exclaims. He looks at the tracks – one set goes to the left, one set goes to the right. "Which way did they go?" Ed quickly opens the door of the wagon and stands up, poking his head out and lifts his eyes to the sky. "There." He spies in the sky over the treetops, the billowing smoke of the train. "Left it is then!" Quickly sitting back down, Ed slams the door shut and gets ready to take off again-

But then stops, his eyes going wide.

_Al._ _Al is still back at the police station. I can't just leave him there! But Roy… _Edward grits his teeth. "Dammit!" he exclaims again, pounding his fist against the steering wheel.

Once more, Ed shifts the vehicle into reverse, backing away from the tracks. This time he turns the wheels far to the left, and when he drives forward again, he is instead heading for the main road.

Al crouches quietly in the alleyway, trash cans as his only cover. Even though his eyelids are heavy, there is a strange alertness about him. He stares intensely at the police station, still unsure as to whether or not Roy is actually still in there…

Suddenly, a police wagon pulls up right in front of him, screeching to a halt! Al yelps and jumps back, clambering to his feet and starting to run off down the long alleyway.

"Al!" he hears his brother's voice call.

Al turns back around, "Ed!"

Ed has the door of the wagon wide open. "Get in!" he calls.

Al runs back towards the vehicle and climbs in, slamming the door behind him, and Ed drives off.

Al quickly looks around the cabin, and then he looks behind him, through the small grate that separates the front of the car from the back of the wagon where the prisoners are kept. It is empty. He turns to his brother, "Where's Roy?"

Ed stares sternly ahead at the road.

His brother repeats, more heatedly, "Ed, where's Roy?"

"They put him on a train," Ed tells him, "And the train took off."

"To where?!" Al frantically asks.

"I don't know."

"What do we do now?!"

"Calm down, Al," Ed says, "We'll think of something." Even though he seems cool on the outside, on the inside, Ed is as frantic as his brother, his heart beating strongly in his chest. "Our best bet is to follow the train tracks. It'll lead us to wherever they took him."

"But the train could stop at any number of stations! How do we know which one is the right one?"

"We don't. That's why we just keep driving until we find that train. It'll have to pull into a rail yard eventually. We find the man in charge of that train, and we force him to tell us where he took the prisoners. There's bound to be more people than just Roy on that train."

"But that could take forever! And who knows what the government is planning on doing to the people they've arrested!"

"Al!" Ed sternly says, "Take a deep breath, okay?"

Al heaves a heavy, breathy sigh, and then sucks in a long drink of air. Slowly, he breathes back out through his nose, trying to calm his nerves, yet still he feels on edge. He clenches his hands, looking out the window. "Okay… Train tracks… Get to the rail yard…" His eyes then drift back over to his brother. "And we're sure the bomb is safe?"

"What?" Ed asks, feeling slightly annoyed at the change in subject.

Al presses, "I know Roy said that the uranium bomb is probably safe in the Lodge, but like you said – if the government is arresting Masons all over, then what if they've raided the Lodge? Even if they didn't _know_ to look for the bomb there, what if they wander upon it? Then what?"

Ed slows the car, bringing it to a halt, and roughly shifts the gear into park. He flops his head onto the wheel, grumbling, "Dammit…"

"Ed?"

"This is too big of a job for just the two of us. We can't search for the bomb _and _save Roy. It's got to be one or the other."

Al quietly looks out the window again, trying to get his head together. He turns back to Ed, "Let's at least drive by the Lodge, check up on it. Maybe we're over-reacting."

Ed sits up, looking at Al, "And if we're not? What if the place really is crawling with soldiers, then what? We won't be able to get in to check on the bomb, _if_ it's even still there."

"Like you said, Ed – this is too big for us. What we need to do is get Roy, get out of the country, and seek help from other Lodges, maybe even other governments!"

Ed crosses his arms with a scoff and sits back in his seat, hunkering down like a pouting child, "Keh! Yeah! That's all we need to do is let other governments know about the bomb's existence. Why? So they can try to get their hands on it and use it themselves? Or worse – so they can start producing their own?"

"Okay, okay!" Al concedes, "For now we'll just keep it to the Brothers. But please! We have to at least check on it."

Without a word, Ed sharply shifts the vehicle into gear, and they take off.

As feared, as they slowly approach the Lodge, Ed and Al can see a mass of police cars parked outside of it, soldiers and police officers shuffling in and out. Without stopping, the brothers drive past, Ed clenching tightly to the steering wheel.

_If I had my alchemy…_, he angrily thinks. It's been over a decade since he'd last used his alchemic powers, and yet still, still Ed wishes for what in this world could be considered magic, super powers. _They wouldn't be able to stop me. I could march right into the Lodge right now and get that bomb back!_

But he knows. He knows that it was sheer dumb luck that he and his brother survived recovering the bomb the first time. There was no way they could repeat that, especially not now – last time it had only been a handful of zealots. Now it was then entire German government after them…

Ed growls in his throat and pushes down on the gas, and the brothers take off, leaving the Lodge behind, perhaps forever…

The tracks seem to stretch on endlessly, the passing tall pine trees watching as, below, a black police wagon rumbles by.

Al gazes out the window at the scenery passing them by, both he and Ed silent practically the entire drive. Neither knows what to say to the other, for in this moment, words are useless. Action is their only course. And Al can remember, from years before, the words his brother once spoke – _Keep moving forward._

Al glances over at his older brother, Edward still sternly glaring out the windshield. That was always his brother's answer to everything. If Ed couldn't think of anything else to do, his only answer was to keep moving. It didn't even matter if there was a destination in mind. As long as they kept moving.

Al chuckles to himself as he looks back out the window. '_I am a travelling man,' after all_, he thinks to himself, recalling the stories he's learned at Lodge meetings. Back when masons literally built things, it meant travelling from one town to another for jobs. These days, it was a metaphor for the constant pursuit of knowledge. But to him and Ed… they'd been travelling their whole lives… quite literally searching for knowledge, helping anybody they found along the way…

Al sighs, the happiness dropping from his eyes. Frankfurt was the first real home they'd had in years. And now it seemed that too was gone…

The sun climbs higher and higher in the sky, the inside of the wagon becoming hot and uncomfortable. Still, they press onward.

As they come near another train station, Ed slows the wagon. Here too, soldiers and officers seem to be everywhere. Ed changes direction slightly, driving off to the right, just a little further into the woods – far enough from the tracks so as not to be seen by anyone at the station, but not so far that he himself can't see the tracks. But this means an even slower going, as now he must navigate through the mass of trees and rocks and bushes, the wagon not exactly built to handle this sort of uneven terrain.

Still, onward…

The drive passes painstakingly slowly. The sun is travelling faster than they are, it already on the decline, and as it sinks below the horizon, Ed feels his head sinking low, he trying to keep upright.

Al, his voice as tired as his eyes, says, "Brother, let me drive for a little while. You're falling asleep at the wheel."

Ed chuckles, exhausted, "Are you kidding me? You're as sleepy as I am right now. We've both been up since yesterday morning…"

"Maybe we should rest for the night?"

Ed sighs, "Yeah. You're right. We're in no shape to be rescuing anyone right now…"

Ed sluggishly presses on the brake, and the wagon sputters to a stop amongst the cover of trees. Ed takes the keys out of the ignition and looks over at Al, "I don't know about you, but I think I'm gonna sleep in the back. There's more room to stretch out there."

Al sleepily nods, his eyes half-closed as he yawns, "Yeah. That sounds nice."

Tiredly, both boys slide out of the front seat and trudge to the back of the wagon, Ed pocketing the car keys. They climb into the back of the wagon, closing the doors behind them, and within a matter of seconds, Al is already snoring.

Ed, on the other hand, sits with his back to the wall, wide awake. Even though his eyelids are heavy, and his brain is fuzzy, he finds himself unable to sleep. All he can think about is how fast everything has changed. In the blink of an eye, their best friend has been taken, and he and Al are out of a home.

It's not like this was anything new. He and Al went years wandering the world, far and wide, without a home. So why did it feel so different this time? Why did it… hurt? Maybe it was because last time, they chose to leave their home behind. Last time, they _chose_ that there would be no home to go back to. This time, though, the choice was not theirs.

Ed sighs, trying vainly to set his worries aside. He glances over at his brother sleeping, Al laying belly-down and snoring away. Ed chuckles to himself. Al looks just they way he did when they were kids.

But they aren't kids anymore. Even though Al is still his younger brother, Al isn't little anymore. Ed tries to ignore the fact that these days Al is taller than he – but now Ed stops and thinks with a smile, _When did that happen? _It's like it happened overnight. Ed wasn't even aware of how Al outgrew him or when, but it happened. Ed chuckles to himself, lowly whispering, "Just like old times, hey Al? You always were taller in those days…"

Ed wasn't sure of exactly when he fell asleep. All he knows now is that he is waking up, meaning that he must have fallen asleep at some point. _What's that noise?_ he thinks, hearing shuffling in the front seat.

He hears a strange mechanical sputtering and the next thing he knows, the engine is roaring to life!

Suddenly, the wagon jerks forward, bouncing up and down, tossing the brothers around in the back of the wagon.

Al, now awake, tries to hold onto something to stable himself. "Brother! What's happening?!"

From the front seat, they can hear a woman's voice cackling gleefully. From outside the vehicle, they can hear a man shouting – "Come back here, you hooligan!"

"Eat my dust, sucker!" the lady shouts, and the wagon takes a sharp turn, sending Al spilling into Ed, crushing him against the wall.

"Ow! Get off!"

"Sorry!"

The wagon levels out, clearly on the main road now. Ed pulls himself up and goes to the grate separating the front seat from the back. He peers through, trying to see who it is driving the wagon. And then in shock, he shouts, "Sheska?!"

"AHH!" The lady, shocked as well, screams, clinging to the wheel, and the vehicle careens off the road and into the ditch!

The brothers pile out of the back of the wagon, coughing as exhaust and dust fill the air. The driver as well climbs out, waving her arm back and forth as she tries to clear the air to breathe.

Ed points at her, "Sheska?! Is that really you?!"

"Who are you, anyway?!" the woman shouts angrily, "What the heck were you doing in the back of a police car?!"

Ed rants back, "What are you doing STEALING police cars?!"

"Hey!" they hear the man from before, and they look up the hill to see a farmer with a pitchfork headed their way.

Sheska hollers, arms in the air, "RUN FOR IT!"

Ed and Al heed her warning and together, all three of them beginning running down the dark road, a fat old farmer desperately trying to keep up with them.

Exhausted and heaving, Ed and Al find themselves on the outskirts of a city. Trying to catch her breath, the bespectacled young lady laughs, and gives a righteous, "Yeah! WHOO! That was amazing! He'll never catch up to us now!"

Ed, hand on chest as he tries to calm both his heart and lungs, looks at the young lady and asks, "Just why were you running from him anyway?"

Gleefully, she responds, "I let loose all the rabbits on his farm! He won't be turning any of them into fur coats anytime soon!" Hands on hips, she laughs a victorious laugh.

Neither Ed nor Al is sure how they're supposed to respond to this. Al says, "That's good… I guess…"

Strangely, her demeanor changes almost immediately as she comes close to Ed, pointing a finger in his face, "Now hang on a minute! Do I know you? How did you know my name?"

Ed nervously waves his hands, smiling, "Uh, no, I think maybe I have you mixed up with another lady called Sheska, heh-heh!"

She points at him more, getting even closer now, "That proves we don't know each other! My name's not Sheska, it's Jesska! Not Jess-ih-cuhhh, but Jess-KA, and with a K not a C!"

Al nervously laughs, trying to seem polite. Still, he lowly whispers to Ed, "This Sheska is kinda scary."

Ed, with his signature smarmy smile, responds, "I dunno. I kinda like this one. She's got guts."

Jesska questions, "So who are you guys?"

Their nervousness subsiding, they respond, "I'm Ed."

"And I'm Al."

"Nice to meet you, I guess, even if you did ruin my masterful escape," She says with crossed arms. But then she says, "Then again, I wouldn't have gotten as far ahead of him as I did if you guys weren't parked there." Then she nervously laughs, "Oh, and uh! Sorry about crashing your car! Heheheh…." She brightens up, "Tell you what! You guys can crash at my place tonight! It's only fair! A crash for a crash! Ahahahaha!"

Again, the boys nervously smile. Ed says, "Uh, thank you?"

The keys turn in the lock and Jesska opens the front door. "Home sweet home!" she beams.

The Elrics follow her into the house and they look around. There doesn't seem to be a wall that doesn't have a bookshelf against it, masses upon masses of books lining every inch of the shelving.

Ed smirks, "So, a book-lover I see."

Jesska nods, "Of course! What self-respecting librarian wouldn't love books? Knowledge is my life!"

Al gently tugs on Ed's sleeve. Smiling coyly, he whispers, "Looks like this Sheska isn't all that different after all." Ed merely responds with a nod, trying hard not to laugh.

Jesska points to a couch and an armchair, "I'm afraid that's all I really have to offer in the way of places to sleep. But I do have some extra pillows and blankets. Hang on, I'll go get them." And she trots off.

Ed flops down in the armchair, resting his head in his hand. He sighs, "Boy this has been a long day."

Al seats himself on the couch, "How long should we stay here?"

"Long enough to get some sleep," Ed tells him. "If we're lucky, she'll feed us too, and then we're on our way."

Al looks down at the floor, "Do you think Roy is okay."

Ed looks away. "…Yeah."

Jesska re-enters, a couple of blankets and pillows piled in her hands. "So can I ask," she questions, "What _were _you guys doing in the back of an abandoned police car? Did you two get arrested and then left to die in the wilderness or something?"

Ed waves his hand, unsure how to really answer, "No, nothing like that."

"Because you know," Jesska says as she hands them each a pillow and blanket, "It's not safe on the streets right now, _especially _around the police."

"Oh?" Ed responds.

A fire arises in the young woman's eyes, and she takes to speaking at a hundred miles per hour, "There have been abductions all over the city! People, just POOF! Gone! Disappearing! Like that! The cops have been _saying_ that it's the Communist groups and their sympathizers that are responsible, but none of that is true! Lies! All lies! Do you know what I think?"

Ed amusingly retorts, "Space aliens?"

"What? Don't be silly!" Jesska steams, "I'm saying that it's the _government_ who's been kidnapping people! It's all part of a major political conspiracy! Anyone who speaks out against the Nationalists magically disappears! It's not a coincidence!"

Al nods, his eyes firm, "You're right. It is the government."

Jesska turns to him in surprise, her hair virtually standing on end, "Whaa?!"

Al affirms, "That's why we're travelling. Our friend was taken by the police, and put on a train headed to a camp somewhere, with other 'undesirables' as the government's been calling them."

Jesska's reaction is bizarrely a happy one, she bouncing up and down, "Oh my gosh! I was right! I was right all along! Ha ha!" And immediately, her tone changes, she balling her hands into fists as a sickly look arises on her face, "Oh my god! I was right! This is awful! All those people! We have to do something!"

"Jesska," Edward queries, "Has there been any talk about where these kidnapping victims might have been taken?"

Jesska turns her attention to Edward, "Well…Yes and no. You see, mostly everyone in town believes what the cops are telling them. That's their game you see! They keep the populace highly uneducated so that they'll believe everything the government feeds to them! But not me! They can't pull the wall over my eyes!"

"Sssooo?" Ed is getting annoyed that she's getting off-topic.

Jesska catches herself, "Oh! Right! You see, me and a lot of the other intellectuals in town," she smiles widely, not unlike a smug cat, "We have our ways of getting around the government and the censorship they've set up to try and keep us down. We've been listening to radio broadcasts all the way from England! And boy! Do they have some stuff to tell!"

Al inquires, "What have they been saying?"

"There's been a lot of movement along the border between Germany and the Netherlands. The Netherlands are worried that Germany might be planning to invade – but if the government really is behind these kidnappings, then maybe _that's_ where they've been building those camps you're talking about!"

Ed says earnestly, "The border. Great. How long would it take to get there?"

"By foot?" Jesska ponders. "Gosh, I don't know." She nervously laughs as she rubs the back of her head, "After all, you guys don't have a car anymore…"

Ed gives a rattled sigh, a small vein popping out on his forehead. "So a long time then?"

Jesska says to them, "Well, I'm not entirely sure. I don't know if the Nationalists have been mobilizing on the northern or the southern border of the Netherlands. If you're lucky, maybe it's the south. If not, the north is pretty far away."

Al asks, "Is there anyway you can find out?"

Jesska perks up, "You bet! I know a guy! Tell you what – tomorrow, we'll go see him! He's been keeping records of the transmissions. I'm sure he can tell us." She turns, heading out the room, "Until then, get some sleep."

Ed grumbles, "While this Sheska is more spunky, she sure is scatter-brained…"

The next morning, after they've had breakfast (which Edward was very grateful for), Jesska takes the boys into town.

Edward tries to walk normally, but he feels very rigid. He scans both sides of the streets.

"You okay, Ed?" Al asks him.

"Just keeping a weather-eye out for any patrolling officers," Ed tells him. "I'm sure there's a warrant out for our arrest. That's the last thing we need right now."

Al jokes, "Oh I don't know. If we get arrested, we might end up in the same camp as Roy. That'd save time."

Ed cynically laughs, seeing the humor but still being serious, "Yeah right. They'd split us up into three different camps. They know we're a menace when we're all together."

"Here we are!" Jesska says cheerfully. The brothers look up and see they've arrived at a watchmaker's shop. Jesska pulls open the door, and they all enter.

The inside of the shop is a curious little wonderland. More than just pocket watches are here: There are lovely little windup music boxes, dainty porcelain ballerinas dancing inside them; large and sturdy great-grandfather clocks, deep brown with inlaid gold on their edges; even a clockwork model of the solar system, the planets twirling around the sun as the exposed gears of the machine click and tink away.

"Mister Tucker~!" Jesska calls. "Are you here?"

Al looks at Ed, "Tucker? You don't think…?"

They hear a soft sound coming from the back room of the shop. Jesska cocks her head to the side curiously and heads back there, Ed and Al following, curious as well.

In the back room, sitting on a stool is a man – the spitting image of Shou Tucker. Ed feels his stomach roll over, but like many times before, he quells his fears, reminding himself that this is not the person he knew from way back when.

Tucker's eyes are bloodshot, streaks glistening down his cheeks. He cries softly.

"Mister Tucker," Jesska asks, concerned, "What's wrong?"

Tucker puts a hand to his mouth, trying to stop the sobs that arise from his throat, "They came for her this morning," He tells her through soft tears. "They took my wife, because they said she was Jewish."

"What?!" Jesska gasps, "Why would they do that?!"

"Her _grandmother_ was Jewish, but she converted to Catholicism! So why?!"

Suddenly, Jesska starts frantically waving her hands about, "Oh my gosh! Where's Nina?!"

Tucker manages a half a laugh and a soft smile, "Don't worry. She's fine."

"Miss Jesska!" a little girl's voice cheerily says.

Ed turns and sees standing in the doorway a little girl with long, brown pigtails. _Nina…_ He feels a lump form in his throat as she enters the room, toddling toward Jesska with open arms.

Jesska scoops her up, crying with happiness as she cuddles her, "Oh thank goodness! I was so worried about you!"

"Why?" Nina asks, tilting her head to the side.

"I thought you went missing like your mom."

"Mommy's not missing," Nina says to Jesska, "She went to go visit Granma. Isn't that right, Daddy?" the little girl asks, turning to her father.

His eyes still downcast, Tucker says, "Yes. That's right, Nina. And she'll be back in no time. Now why don't you go play upstairs for now. I seem to have a couple of new customers to talk to."

Jesska sets Nina down and Nina responds, "Okay, Daddy," and she trots off, out of the room.

Jesska is silent for a moment, and then looks over at Mr. Tucker, "She doesn't know?"

He shakes his head, "No. I don't want to frighten her. I want to try to keep life as normal as possible for her." He curls his shoulders inward, holding onto his elbows. "But I fear staying here. What if they take her too, for being half-Jewish or something? And I've heard talk that they're even planning on arresting what they call 'Race-Defilers,' which apparently they'd consider me one…"

Jesska returns to her spunky self, holding a presenting hand out towards the Elrics, "Don't worry, Mr. Tucker! These guys are here to help!"

"We are?" Al asks. And then he looks at Tucker and says, "Oh, uh, we are."

Ed steps forward. "Mr. Tucker – I'm Edward Elric, and this is my brother, Alphonse. Our friend, like your wife, was arrested and taken away by the government. We believe that the Nationalists have built camps of some kind to house these people. And Jesska tells us that you might know something about this."

Tucker puts his hand to his chin, "Hmm. So they're not training camps, but internment camps…"

Al pipes up, slightly excited, "So you do know something!"

Tucker nods, finally standing from his stool, "Yes. They're just reports I've heard on the radio, but they may be worth something. Follow me, I'll show you."

Tucker leads them out of the room and starts to ascend the stairs, they following.

Tucker asks, "So, how is it that you know Jesska?"

Al, directly behind Tucker, says with a smile, "We met her when she stole our car."

Tucker stops walking and turns around, "You what?"

Jesska, behind Al, waves her hands defensively, "It's not what it sounds like! It was a life-or-death situation!"

Edward with a smarmy smile pokes Jesska in the back and adds, "Yeah, she was being chased by a hoard of rabbits that she set loose."

"It was nothing like that!" She fumes as she turns to face him.

Tucker's shoulders drop as he glares at her sternly, "Jesska, I understand Animal Rights are important to you, but please, you have to stop. You could compromise the whole group if you get arrested on a stupid charge like that."

"Hey!" Jesska cries with furrowed brows, "Rabbits deserve to be shoved into cages as much as people do!"

Tucker groans and ignores her, continuing his way up the stairs.

When they reach the second floor, they take a right, heading for a room at the end of the hall. Before they get there though, Edward spies through an open door Nina, sitting in her room, surrounded by toys. She sits at a small table with a toy teapot and several stuffed animals – a bunny, a doll, and a large teddy bear that's almost as big as Nina herself.

Ed glances at the trio ahead of him as they continue down the hall, and then he looks back at Nina. He quietly goes to her door and knocks on the frame.

She looks up from her toys.

Edward smiles softly, "Is it okay if I come in?"

Nina nods brightly, "Uh-huh!"

Ed enters the room and kneels down at the table, "Sure is a nice tea party you got going here."

"Uh-huh!" Nina chimes. "You want some?"

"Sure," Ed agrees.

Nina picks up a toy cup from in front of the teddy bear and sets it down in front of Ed. Then she lifts her toy teapot and pretends to pour. "There you go!"

He asks her, "Are you sure your bear won't mind?"

"Miss Fluffenstuffs says she's not thirsty."

Ed lifts the little teacup and nods to the bear, "Thank you Miss Fluffenstuffs," and he proceeds to 'drink' his pretend drink. He lets out a happy sigh, "Ah! It's delicious!"

Nina grins from ear to ear, "Thanks! It's my own very special recipe!"

"Ed?" Al pokes his head into the room. "Where'd you go? We're waiting on you."

Ed stands up, "Yeah, sorry." He waves to Nina, "Thanks for the tea."

Nina waves back, "You're welcome!" She grabs her teddy bear and makes it wave as well. "Say bye-bye!"

Al smiles and waves back at the bear, and then he and his brother leave. "Cute kid," Al says.

"Yeah," Ed responds.

They're both quiet for a moment. And then Al asks, "You gonna be okay?"

"…Yeah. I'm fine."

They enter the back room where Tucker and Jesska are. A large radio stands in the corner; in front of the window is positioned a desk, and on top of it, a small two-way radio complete with headphones and a microphone. Tucker places a hand on top of it and says, "This is our very humble base of operations. I receive overseas broadcasts from that large radio over there – and then I transmit messages to our fellow group members from this small one here. Mind you, everything's in code. We don't want the government listening in when we plan our sabotages."

Al asks, "Sabotages like what?"

Tucker shrugs, "Oh, little things. A government memorandum that suddenly goes missing. A factory worker forgetting to put a few screws into the making of a vehicle. Things that can go easily unnoticed but still throw a wrench into the government's operations."

Jesska adds fervorishly, "We've also been keeping an ear out for what the Nationalists have been banning – books, songs, films – and I've been ordering as many as possible for the library! Mind you, I've been storing them away in the back room, away from the general public, but our dedicated followers know that these items exist!" She gives a victorious laugh, "Hahahaha! The law will not keep us down!"

"That's enough, Jesska," Tucker says as he pulls open a desk drawer and takes out a small notepad. He flips through a few pages, and then says, "Here," pointing to the sheet.

Ed leans in to look at the pad as Tucker speaks.

"These are notes that I took on a broadcast last week. The Nationalists have been building camps in the Emsland district. We _thought_ they were training camps, from all that's been going on, it would seem they are in fact prison camps."

Ed grits his teeth, "Emsland. That's north of here. I was hoping they'd be closer."

Tucker nods, "You have a lot of catching up to do if you want to make it to your friend," he sets the notepad aside and as he does, he then reaches for a picture frame. He holds it up, showing it to Edward, "Here."

"What's this?" Ed asks as he takes the picture.

"It's our family portrait," Tucker says. "I doubt that my wife will end up at the same camp as your friend, but please," Tucker pleads, "_Please_, memorize her face. If you see her at all, try to get her out."

Ed and Al both look over the photograph.

Tucker sighs, "I still can't believe she's gone…"

Jesska rubs him on the back, "It's okay, Mr. Tucker. I'm sure she's fine."

"But for soldiers just to kidnap her like that! And me – powerless to do anything to stop it!"

Edward says, "Don't worry. We'll do our best to save her…"

What no one realizes is that at that moment, Nina is standing in the doorway. Quietly she backs away and then sprints off to her room.

Al says, "Not to be rude, Mr. Tucker, but what's wrong with your wife's hand?" he asks, pointing to the photo.

Tucker responds, "When my wife was a little girl, she was feeding carrots to the horses on her family's farm. One of the horses was just a bit too hungry and took off two of her fingers along with the carrot." Tucker points to the photo as well, showing off his wife's right hand and the pinkie and ring fingers on it – "What you see there are clockwork replacements that I made for her. A tad bit strange looking, but they make it easier for her to handle things."

Ed inwardly chuckles. _Looks like this world could have some real automail any day now._ He hands the photo back to him, "Mr. Tucker, do you have any maps that show us the way to Emsland?"

Tucker shakes his head, "I'm afraid not-"

Suddenly Jesska pipes up, "Ooh! I do! I've got all kinds of maps at the library! Road maps, railway maps, geography maps, whole ATLASES if you need them!"

"Uh, sure," Ed says, still not quite used to how excitable this Sheska is.

Jesska wraps her arm around his and starts to tote him out of the room, Ed trying not to trip on himself as she lugs him forward. "Come on!" she cheerily says, "The library's just up the street! And I've got more than just atlases! I can give you some books on communism and the worker's plight, and I've also got some really neat pamphlets that were published overseas about~" and she goes on and on, faster than Winry talking about automail.

Al shakes Tucker's hand, "Thank you, Mr. Tucker. Like Ed said, we'll do our best to find your wife."

Tucker smiles sadly, "Thank you. You boys are braver than I."

Al kindly smiles back, "Don't sell yourself short. There are all kinds of different bravery. It takes a lot of bravery to raise a child, and even more strength to try and keep some normalcy in her life."

Still Tucker sadly smiles, "You're too kind." He tries to buck up, "You'd better catch up to Jesska before she disappears with your brother entirely. Before you know it, he'll be buried in a mountain of books."

Al laughs, "All right," and he leaves the room, waving as he does, "Goodbye."

Before reaching the stairs, Al pops his head into Nina's room to say goodbye, but he doesn't see her. He looks around, left to right, but the room is empty. "Huh, that's funny…"

He goes downstairs where Jesska continues to talk Ed's ear off, he politely trying to cover his ear while making it look like he's just pushing his hair to the side. Al comes down to the first floor and asks, "Is Nina down here? I wanted to say goodbye?"

"Hmm?" Both Ed and Jesska hum. Ed says, "I thought she was still upstairs?"

Al shakes his head, "No, I thought she came down here with you guys."

"Wait!" they hear Tucker shout from upstairs. Suddenly, here he comes, jogging down the stairs with a paper in his hand. "You have to help!"

Jesska, concerned, asks, "What's happened?"

Tucker shoves the paper out in front of him. "It's Nina! She's run away!"

"What?!" Jesska swipes up the paper, she and Ed and Al all looking it over.

On the paper is scribbled in red crayon: "Daddy – Went to find Mommy. Will be back. – Nina. P.S. – Took Miss Fluffenstuffs with me."

Jesska stutters, "B-but I thought she thought her mom is at her mom's house! You don't think she's planning on walking all the way there, do you?"

Tucker has his hands on his head, running his fingers through his hair, "I don't know! She must have overheard us talking! Why else would she write 'went to find'?"

Ed clenches his fist and lets out a breath, "Looks like we'll have to put our trip to Emsland on hold." He looks up at Tucker, "We'll help you find your daughter. Any ideas where she might go?"

Tucker shakes his head, "No, not the slightest! She might just be wandering aimlessly on the streets!"

Jesska is suddenly clenching tighter to Ed's arm, her eyes glinting with resilience, "Well she's got little legs! She can't have gone very far! And we've got long legs! We'll catch up to her in no time! Come on!" And she yanks Ed forwards toward the door.

"Hey! Easy!"

Out on the front stoop, Jesska points to her right, "Al! Mr. Tucker! You two go that way! We'll go this way! Shout if you find her!"

And they split up, each pair running in opposite directions.

Nina climbs up the front stairs of the library, clinging to her teddy bear. She gets to the front door and pushes it inward, going inside. She looks up to the high ceilings with glee.

"Isn't it pretty, Miss Fluffenstuffs?" she asks her bear. "Miss Jesska brings me here all the time and reads me stories!" She lifts her bear up, looking it in its glass eyes, "Maybe I'll read you a story someday. But right now we got to find that map book. I think Miss Jesska called it a add-less or something…"

She carries her toy the way a mother would carry a child, and Nina begins wandering around the library lobby, looking at the masses upon masses of books surrounding her.

"Gosh," she says, a little disheartened, "We'll never find Mommy if we can't find a map…" Then her face lights up, "There it is!" She ambles towards a stack of books sitting on a round table – encyclopedias, almanacs, and yes, even atlases, sit piled here. She clambers up onto a chair and looks at the atlas, smiling. "This is it! This book has every map in the world!"

Suddenly there are the sounds of heavy boots running up the steps, and the doors are thrown open. Nina hears shouting and turns around to see men in brown uniforms carrying rifles.

She gasps, "Soldiers!"

Quickly, she snags the book from the table and runs in behind a book shelf, and she peeks over the tops of the books of the lowest shelf. She can hear the soldiers shouting, "Everyone out, now!"

Nina scurries away, running further down the lane of books, getting as far from the soldiers as possible. She spies an open crate sitting on the floor, some brand new books lain out on the table beside it. She throws in Miss Fluffenstuffs, and then Nina herself climbs into the crate, toting the book along with her. She reaches out of the crate and grabs its top, pulling with her little arms to bring the heavy wooden top to rest on top of the box.

She whispers to the bear, "Those soldiers aren't gonna take us like they took Mommy! We'll hide here all night if we have to!"

"Nina?" Ed calls as he walks into an alleyway. He pokes his head behind a trashcan. "Nina? Come on, your dad is worried about you."

"Ahh!" He suddenly hears Jesska cry, "What are they doing?!"

Ed runs out of the alley and back onto the main street. "What's wrong?"

Jesska points, "Look!"

Up the street, soldiers in brown uniforms are carrying books out of the library and are tossing them into a large pile on the street. A crowd is gathering around them, some shouting, others chanting.

Jesska takes off running, Ed calling after her, "Jesska, wait!" and he runs after her as well.

Jesska approaches one of the soldiers, "What are you doing?! Why are you throwing out our books like that?!"

"Stand aside!" the soldier orders her, "These books have all been blacklisted. We have orders to burn them."

"Burn them?!" Jesska cries with dismay. She gets close to the soldier, grabbing him by his arm, shaking him back and forth. "You can't DO this! What sort of heathens burn books?! Books are knowledge! Knowledge is power! Are you trying to send us back to the Dark Ages?!"

The soldier swings his arm, throwing her off, "Get lost!" He then shouts to a fellow soldier, "Get the torches!"

"No!" Jesska tries to run at the man carrying a torch, but Ed holds her back.

"Jesska, stop!" He turns her towards him, saying lowly, "They're just books! Like Mr. Tucker said – Don't do anything to get yourself arrested! What you're doing is too important for you to be put behind bars."

Tears are forming in Jesska's eyes, "This isn't fair! They have no right to do this!"

"I know," Ed tells her, his eyes still, "But we've got to choose out battles…"

The soldier tosses his torch onto the pile, and the books catch ablaze, the crowd surrounding them cheering.

Jesska holds her hands to her mouth, trying to hold back the tears.

The cheers turn to chants, someone shouting, "Burn – the – lies!" and soon the whole crowd is chanting, "Burn – the – lies!"

A young man picks up a stone and throws it at a library window. At the shrieking shattering of glass, the crowd cheers again and soon it becomes a game of who can pick up a rock the fastest.

Jesska waves her hands about, yelling, "Stop it! Stop it! You're already burning the books! You don't have to deface the library as well!"

"Boo!" They begin throwing rocks at her as well!

Ed jumps in front, holding up his right arm to protect them both. "HEY!" he barks at them, "Knock it off! You've had your fun!"

"Throw the commies out!" Someone shouts. Before Ed even knows what's happening, a flaming books goes flying over his head, right through one of the broken windows! It gets caught in the curtains, and within a matter of seconds the window is engulfed in flames!

"No!" Jesska cries.

"Brother!" Al and Tucker run up to the Ed and Jesska. "What's happening?!"

Tucker looks at the building, the flames spreading from window to window, "Oh no. This is terrible…"

The lead soldier comes over, pushing them away from the front steps, "All right! Back it up! Back it up!"

Suddenly Tucker is screaming, "Nina!"

They all look to where he's pointing – the farthest window of the building, right in the corner, Nina stands against the window, banging against the pane, her mouth wide open in a scream! Her bear dangles from her hand, it whacking up heavily against the glass with a thunk every time her small fists beat up against the window.

Tucker tries to run forward, but the soldier holds him back. "Please!" Tucker cries, "Let me through! My daughter's in there!"

"You'll be killed too, idiot!" the soldier tells him – but because he's so busy holding Tucker back, the soldier is too late in stopping Edward! "Hey! Come back here!"

Edward dashes up the steps as fast as his legs will carry him, and with the brunt of his shoulder, he bursts the doors open. Immediately, he is hit in the face with ash and searing heat, smoke filling his lungs. He coughs a couple of times, lifting his arm to shield his face from the roaring fires.

"Nina!" he shouts.

"Help!"

He can hear her scream, but he can't see her. He knows she's in the corner, so he runs towards it, trying to avoid the flames that are climbing up the walls and windows. The fire crawls its way across the ceiling, licking down and catching upon the books below it. Ed keeps running.

"Help me!" Nina cries.

"Nina, where are you?!"

"Here! Here!"

He squints through the flames and can make out a small silhouette. "Just stay there!"

"Hurry!"

Ed wants to run straight towards her, but the flames are already getting too high! He darts to his left, running alongside a bookshelf, its right half on fire, but this side still yet to catch. He runs as fast as he can, not taking any chances with going slow, and he pops out on the other side. There, huddled in the corner is Nina, clinging tightly to her bear.

"Help me!"

Ed runs up to Nina, he taking off his coat and wrapping her up in it. He scoops her up into his arms, and he looks around desperately, "There's got to be a way out!"

Outside, the soldiers do their best to keep the near-to-rioting crowd under control, some shouting, "Don't just stand there! Save that child!" others shouting, "Let the traitors burn!"

Al and Jesska both struggle to keep Mr. Tucker back, they clinging to his coat as he claws forward, his fingers outstretched towards the building. "Let me go! I've got to save Nina!"

"Ed can do this!" Al reassures him, "Just give him time!"

There is a great creaking and loud cracking. Everyone looks up at the library, all four of its walls now brimmed with fire, and with a mighty snapping and cracking, the ceiling caves in!

"Ed!" Al cries.

"Nina!" Both Tucker and Jesska shout, Tucker falling to his knees.

The massive amount of debris smothers the fire of the building, dust and ash rising into the air, smoke smoldering about as it rises to the sky. Only the gentle crackling of the bonfire of books in the background is to be heard.

Tears stream down Tucker's face, "No! NO! I've already lost my wife, and now my daughter too?!"

Jesska gasps, "Look!"

Walking over the rubble, out of the smoke and the ash is Edward, carrying in his arms Nina, and in her arms her teddy bear.

"Nina!" Tucker cries, rising to his feet and rushing towards them both, taking his daughter and hugging her tightly. "Oh Nina! Thank god!"

"Daddy!" she cries, her face covered in soot that she rubs off onto his shirt as she buries her face in his chest. "Daddy, I was so scared!"

He holds her tight, rubbing her head, "It's okay, sweetie! Daddy's here." He looks up at Ed, "Oh Edward, thank you. Thank you so much."

Ed shrugs, trying to play cool, "Eh, what can I say? Recklessly endangering myself is what I do."

Al runs up to them, Jesska following in behind, Al asking, "Brother! Are you okay?!"

"No worries," Ed tries to calm him, "Back doors come in handy in situations like this. We were out of the building long before the roof came down."

Jesska puts a hand to her chest, breathing a huge sigh of relief, "Oh, thank goodness! I was so worried about you two!"

The moment is cut short as the soldier approaches them, violently waving at them, shooing them off, "All right! Move it! Get outta here!"

Back at Tucker's shop, Jesska wipes a warm wet cloth across Nina's face, Nina sitting atop the stool. "There!" Jesska says to the little girl, "All the soot's gone. Nice and clean!"

"Thank you Miss Jesska," Nina says.

"Nina," her father questions, "What on earth were you doing by yourself in the library."

Nina looks down at the floor dejectedly, "I wanted to get the map book so I could go find Mommy. I heard you say that the soldiers kidnapped her, and I just wanted to help."

Edward kneels down to her, putting his hand on her shoulder, "That was very brave of you, Nina. But don't worry," he points a thumb to his chest, winking at her with a big grin, "Big brother Ed is gonna go out and find your mom, okay?"

She smiles a big smile, "Really?"

"I promise."

Nina scoots her way off the stool, climbing down to the floor and she trots over to her bear sitting in the corner, it oddly misshapen. Nina pulls the bear by its head, pulling it forward and exposing its back, its stitches all popped!

"Nina," her father says with a slightly scolding tone, "What did you do to your bear? Why is it ripped like that?"

From the inside of her bear, Nina lugs out the atlas! "I told you, Daddy! I went to the library to get the maps!"

Jesska says with an air of realization, "Oh~! And you hid it in the bear to keep it away from the soldiers! I'm very impressed Nina! You're a rebel in the making!"

Nina giggles gleefully, doing a bit of a squirmy dance of pride. She then walks up to Ed, lifting the book to him, "It's for you, big brother! You'll need this to find your way back!"

Ed smiles at her and takes the atlas, it very light in his hands compared to hers. "Thank you, Nina."

Jesska sighs, looking out the window, "We've already wasted half a day – and after a daring rescue like that, I can't send you boys off without having eaten. Not to mention, you probably need some rations or something before heading out." She rubs her head, thinking aloud, "And in the time it takes us to go shopping to buy you guys food, it'll already be sundown! And I can't let you guys wander around at night! Who knows what's out there! Wolves! Robbers! Bears!"

Nina lifts her teddy bear, "They can take Miss Fluffenstuffs! She'll protect them!"

Everyone chuckles, unable to resist Nina's adorableness.

And so, another day passes, the Elrics stocking up and taking a short time to rest, and as the sun arises the next day, they head out, thanking Jesska for her kindness, carrying with them bags filled with their supplies for the journey ahead.

They walk down the street, past the ashes of the library and the bonfire. Al looks to Ed. "How long before we get to Emsland?"

"On foot?" Ed ponders, "A full day if we walk nonstop without eating or sleeping, but we both know that's not gonna happen. And we shouldn't stick to the main roads either. So cutting through the woods, and eating, and sleeping…" Ed heaves a sigh, "Heck, this is gonna take forever…"

_Bark, bark!_

The boys stop and look across the street from where they hear a small dog barking. They see on the other side of the street is Mr. Tucker, carrying with him a small white puppy. He pets its head, saying to it, "Nina's going to love you. I think I'll call you Alex."

"Bark!"

Ed feels his blood run cold, and suddenly he's frozen to his spot, unable to move.

"Ed?" Al mutters, concerned.

It's not until Tucker turns a corner that Ed finally snaps to and bolts forward, Al dropping his bag as he holds him back.

"Ed! What's wrong?!"

Ed shouts, struggling against Al's grasp "We have to stop him! That bastard is going to transmute Nina! He's gonna turn her into a chimera!"

Al pulls back on his brother's arms, "Ed! Stop! We both know that's not going to happen! It's impossible!"

Ed's heart stops… and slowly he feels it start pumping blood again, a shakiness about it, that shakiness making its way into his hand. _Impossible…_ He looks down at the ground, and then turns around, not looking his brother in the eye. Slowly, he says, "…Come on. Let's get out of here…"

Ed walks past Al, Al sighing through his nose as he watches his brother silently. He leans down and picks up his dropped bag, shouldering it, following without a word.

**Note from the Author**: Augh! Edward interacting with small children! It's disgusting, isn't it?! And by disgusting, I mean so unbearably adorable that I want to cry!

And FYI: NINA LIVES! NINA FUCKING LIVES! Just to put everyone's fears to rest, she survives this dingdaddily war. Her father is mentally stable, nothing bad happens to the dog, and Nina fucking _lives_, okay? I feel like I've done enough to you guys and I'm going to do much more to you that you all deserve this. NINA. LIVES.


	11. Heart of Fire

The bugle sounds its ever-annoying excuse of a melody and the prisoners begin stirring in their bunks. Roy rolls over, desperately wanting just of few more moments of sleep, when, through cracked lids, something catches his eye.

"Huh?"

Sitting on the edge of his bed is a small seeded bread.

Roy sits up, staring at the mysterious bit of food. He looks around – none of the other prisoners have one, nor do they seem to notice that he has one. He looks back down at the bun, and pokes at it cautiously.

_This better not be some joke by the guards, _he thinks to himself. _It's either poisoned or filled with something disgusting…_

Slowly he picks it up, and then breaks the bread in half. It looks all right, he supposes. He brings it up to his nose and smells it. It smells even better, and his stomach begins rumbling intensely, begging for something other than the gruel its been given day in and day out.

_Well, you don't look a gift horse in the mouth, I suppose_, Roy thinks to himself, and throwing caution to the wind, he proceeds to eat the bread – quickly now, before a guard should come in and see.

In the kitchens, a chubby old man, the head cook, opens the pantry, ready to pull out some ingredients to make breakfast for the soldiers. He reaches to one shelf and his hand lands flat on nothing _but_ shelf. He stands on his tippy-toes to look.

"Hey!" he complains, "Where the hell did all the seed buns go?" He turns accusingly at his assistant cook, "Did you throw out the bread? I told you! We're on tight rations! We can't afford to be making new bread every day!"

"No, sir," the assistant defends himself. "Maybe it was mice?"

"You expect me to believe that mice ate _all _of the bread without leaving a crumb?"

Suddenly there is the scurrying of tiny feet, and the door of the kitchen flies open, closing as quickly as it had opened.

Both the cook and his assistant look over at the door, the assistant shaking, "What the heck was that?!"

The cook says, "That was one big mouse…"

The day proceeds as normal. The guards stand at their posts, rifles in hand, eyes cast upon their prisoners.

Roy is in the trench with his shovel, digging with other prisoners. He wonders if they should be buried alive in here as now the trench is deep enough to stack two men high. Getting in and out requires a rope ladder.

He hears one of the other prisoners yelp, and Roy looks over his shoulder. A man is clasping tightly to his hand, red blood beginning to seep out from his palm.

A guard atop the hole shouts down, "Get back to work!"

The prisoner looks up, about to say something, but thinks better of it, and turns his attention back to the earth beneath his feet. He tries to push down on the shovel, but winces again, stopping his digging, sucking air through grit teeth.

The prisoner then notices that someone has approached him. It's Roy. Without a word, Roy takes hold of the bottom of his own uniform shirt, and tears it off. He hands the long strand of rag out to the other man. "Here," Roy says, "Wrap your hand with that."

The man, slightly confused looking (as this is probably the first bit of kindness he's received at this camp) takes the rag from Roy. "Uh… thanks."

"Hey!" the soldier shouts again, "I said work!"

Roy looks up, eyes steely, "If you want him to work, you'll let him wrap his hand first. He can't even hold the shovel the way his hand is now."

The soldier grumbles, "Whatever! Just hurry up!"

Roy nods to his fellow prisoner, and the man smiles, and then begins wrapping the cloth around his hand.

During the only break they receive midday, the prisoners line up, tiny tin cups in hand, to receive some water.

A guard stands nearby to make sure the prisoners remain orderly as Sergeant Hughes ladles some water out of a barrel and into a cup, saying, "Next!" The prisoner before him moves away, allowing the next prisoner to come up to the barrel.

Hughes mutters to himself, "Can't believe they've got me doing grunt work. This is so boring…"

He looks up from the barrel of water to see that the next prisoner in line is a familiar face – that Mustang guy. The prisoner glares at him with ice in his eyes. Hughes' face is as still as stone, and yet a twitch manages to tick at the corner of his eye. Without a word, he lifts the ladle and fills Mustang's cup. "Next!"

Roy moves away, trying to find a quiet place to sit and relax for the few brief minutes he has. He hears a small commotion and looks back over towards the barrel.

An old man is pleading with the guard, "Please! Just one more cup! I'm so thirsty!"

The guard hollers, "You've already had your share! Now get lost!" Using the brunt of his rifle, the guard pushes the old man away, and the elderly prisoner roughly falls over and into the dirt, crying upon impact.

Roy gasps, unable to believe what he's seeing. He thinks he should be used to this sort of thing by now, and yet still he finds himself filled with both shock and anger. He walks up to the old man on the ground, and setting his cup down, Roy helps lift the man to a sitting position.

Roy then lifts his cup, handing it to the old man, "Here. Drink."

The old man is still crying, but his lips are trembling in a smile, "Bless you! Bless you!"

Sergeant Hughes scowls at the pair, saying to Roy, "You're gonna pass out from dehydration if you give your water away like that."

Roy glares sternly at the sergeant, "It's my water, I'll do what I want with it."

The guard beside Hughes commands, "Hey! You better show some respect."

Hughes waves it off, "Whatever. If he wants to kill himself, let him."

Commander Amsel sits at his desk, nervously tapping a pen on the tabletop as he stares rather blankly at the telegram before him.

"Mustang, Roy, is an ally of the known conspirator against the Party, Elric, Edward. Both are suspects in the murder of a top-level scientist, as well as the disappearance of a top secret weapon. The prisoner is not to be killed, for he may contain valuable information."

He sighs, now twirling the pen between his fingers, "Of course I'd end up with an important prisoner. I was hoping I'd get an easy job…"

Kimblee straightens his tie one more time, just to make sure that's it's perfectly straight. He gets ready to leave his room when suddenly he gasps, putting his hand on top of his head. His hat? Where was his hat?

Feeling a panic quickly arise within him, Kimblee looks around his room, and quickly he breathes a sigh of relief as he spies his hat sitting on top of his pillow. He walks over to his bed, lifting the hat and putting it on top of his head. After all, what self-respecting officer didn't look his best at all times?

Chin up and chest out, Kimblee leaves his room, making his way to the commander's office.

When he arrives at the door, Kimblee does one last check, brushing some stray hairs from shoulder, making sure he looks presentable. He then knocks on the commander's door. "Commander Amsel? I-"

The door swings open but it is not Commander Amsel who stands there. It is instead a very tall, menacing looking man: broad of shoulders, blond of hair, and dark blue eyes. His uniform is pitch-black, a helmet on his head. Another man, very similar to this one, stands inside the room near Commander Amsel who sits at his desk.

Kimblee feels his stomach drop at the appearance of this stranger, but immediately he snaps to attention and salutes the man. "Welcome to our camp, sir!"

Amsel laughs, "You don't have to salute them, Lieutenant. They're not officers."

Kimblee enters the room, "But they are SS, are they not? And I am but a humble SA man. They deserve my respect." Kimblee reaches the commander's desk, and he turns ceremoniously on heel to face the men before them. "I am Lieutenant Zolf. J. Kimblee. It's an honor to meet you."

Amsel says as he points his pen from one man to the other, "This is Trumbauer and Flagge. High Command sent 'em to help interrogate that Mustang character."

The corner of Kimblee's mouth twitches momentarily, but then he smiles, closing his eyes with a gentle bow of his head. "Actually, that's what I came to talk to you about, Commander. I would be honored if you allowed _me_ to interrogate the prisoner." He then looks to the soldiers before him, "No disrespect, sirs. I just don't think you should be sullying your hands by having to interact with the filth."

One of them steps forward, Kimblee unsure if this one is Trumbauer or if this one is Flagge, and the man says, "It's disrespectful if you think that any sort of filth could actually sully us."

Kimblee coughs, trying to clear the lump in his throat. "No, of course not. You are the strongest of our race, clearly. Forgive me."

The other SS soldier laughs, "Ah, don't take it so hard! You're just a brownshirt. We don't expect you to understand the complexities of the higher-ups."

Kimblee narrows his eyes, resisting a frown.

Amsel gently waves at the soldiers, "Take it easy on him. This one's not that bad. Why he's almost an SS himself. Obedient, loyal – I think you'd find him a useful assistant in the interrogation."

The soldier (Flagge?) responds, "If that's how you want it, Commander."

Kimblee salutes them once again, "Don't worry, sirs! I won't let you down!"

The two large SS soldiers begin to exit, Trumbauer saying, "Just don't get under-foot, all right?"

Flagge exits after him, and Kimblee remains in the office with Amsel. Kimblee holds in a great grumbling sigh, merely saluting his commander and then leaving quietly.

As Roy leaves the water barrel and starts to make his way back to the trench, he passes the building that was recently erected next to it. Suddenly he is hit by a huge stench. He covers his mouth, trying not to gag.

_What is that smell?_

It's indescribable, somewhere between rotten meat and rotten eggs, both and yet not really either.

Holding his breath, Roy gets ready to descend the rope ladder into the pit, hoping that perhaps down there, the smell will pass over his head.

He stops momentarily, though, as he notices that more new arrivals are being ushered in through the front gates. _More?_ he thinks to himself. _How many people do they think will fit in this camp?_ He thinks perhaps his eyes are playing tricks on him, for it looks as though there are even women and children in amongst this new crowd. Roy shakes his head, _The Nationalists are getting that vindictive are they?_

He gets not but a foot on the ladder before he hears Kimblee's voice: "Mustang."

Roy looks up and sees that Kimblee is accompanied by two large men in black uniforms. Without a word, the two burly men grab Roy by his arms and start to drag him away.

Nearby, at another building project, the little boy Rick sees this and begins wringing his hands worriedly. His older brother Leo gives him a gentle knock on the head with his knuckle. "Hey. You better keep working before they get mad," he says softly.

Rick nods, "Oh, right…" and turns his attention back to the project.

Everyone else is already in bed by the time the guards take Roy back to his hut. They open the door, shoving him inside, and then slam the door behind him. Roy can hear the padlock click into place.

His knees shaky and skin stinging all over, Roy wearily makes his way towards his bunk. He climbs the ladder and, thankfully, looks at his cot before crawling into it, for laying there are a handful of pickled eggs.

"What the-?"

Roy moves them aside, wiping the vinegary wetness dry from the canvas, and then he slides onto his cot, piling the eggs into his lap, looking them over.

_Where do these things keep coming from? _he wonders. He coughs a bit, as the eggs smell as though they've been out in the hot air for longer than they should have been. He chuckles, _Maybe that new building is where they've been storing all the eggs…_

Thankful nonetheless for the mysterious gift, Roy eats away.

"What do you mean you don't have any eggs?" Hughes gripes.

The assistant cook passing out the food says to the sergeant, "I'm sorry, sir, but we're all out. We're expecting another shipment soon, though."

Hughes walks away a little pouty, a rather amusing sight. He mumbles to himself, "No bread yesterday and now no eggs today…"

He looks over at the officers' table, their plates completely full.

_Oh, of course!_ He begrudgingly thinks, _Of course the officers get eggs…_ But as he keeps walking, he takes notice of two large men sitting with Amsel and Kimblee. _Who's that? I've never seen those guys before…_

Kimblee chats away, Commander Amsel looking like a proud father, but the two SS soldiers looking very bored: "I know the requirement is pure German blood since at least 1750, but _honestly_, it should be pure blood no matter the amount of time. For instance, I can trace my pure blood all the way back to Joseph I of Habsburg – but that's just the tip of the iceberg. As we speak, my father has been devotedly researching our family line to track down all the records and reconcile them into a single book. It's likely my bloodline stretches beyond that…"

Hughes rolls his eyes, letting out a slight, "Yyugg," sort of sound, annoyed, and he keeps walking past, ignoring the lieutenant's ramblings.

Having sucked down a bowl of gruel, Roy heads out with the other prisoners, ready to make his way back into the trench. But when they get there, its been filled in!

Roy grimaces at the dark dirt pile. _They better not expect us to re-dig this thing!_

But the soldier in charge leads them over to a patch of dirt directly adjacent to the previous one. "All right, maggots! We're building a new trench right here! Get digging!"

Roy's shoulders fall, eyes to the sky. _I wish they'd put me on hut-building duty or something. At least then I'd feel like I'm doing something useful…_

Roy gets ready to stick his shovel into the earth, when his tool is yanked from his hands.

"Ah-ah-ah!" Kimblee wags a finger at him, like a teacher to a child, "Not you." Kimblee tosses the shovel onto the ground, and then roughly grabs Roy by the arm. "You're coming with us."

Trumbauer and Flagge stand behind Kimblee, they looking down at Roy as one of them cracks their knuckles, "Let's see if we have a better session than yesterday. Maybe you'll actually feel like talking this time."

Roy narrows his eyes, not saying a word. And once again, the men carry him off.

Kimblee stands outside the room, guarding the door, and from inside the room, he can hear Roy's cries of pain.

"Hmph!" Kimblee leans his back against the wall, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed. "What pigs. Don't they know there are more subtle ways to pull information out of someone?"

He stares at the ground, unconsciously clenching his jaw. _Damn it! I'll never find out anything from Mustang if these two idiots keep interrogating him! If I could just get in there. Squeeze the info out of him – No! Even better! If I could find and recover that top secret weapon! – then, maybe then, High Command will let me join the SS…_

He pinches the bridge of his nose.

_It's not fair! Morons like Trumbauer and Flagge are BLESSED with blue eyes… And yet me, who's a TRUE Aryan! Cultured! Intelligent! Majestic! _

He looks down at his uniform.

_…I get eyes browner than my shirt…_

He puts his hand on his head and shifts his hat forward, covering his eyes. He then hears footsteps approaching, and, pushing his hat back into place, Kimblee looks up to see Sergeant Hughes walking towards him.

"Lieutenant Kimblee?" the sergeant begins-

"Not now!" Kimblee barks at him. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

Hughes retorts with a smile, "Yeah, that wall's not gonna stand up by itself."

Kimblee stops leaning against the wall and demands, "What do you want?"

Hughes continues, "Commander Amsel requests your presence, sir."

The door next to Kimblee opens up, and Trumbauer and Flagge exit, wiping their hands. Flagge closes the door behind him, "I don't know about you, but I could use some grub."

Trumbauer responds, "Me too. Beating up prisoners is hard work. But maybe this Mustang guy will feel like talking after hanging upside-down for a few hours!"

They both give bellyful laughs.

Hughes suggests, "You better not leave him upside-down too long. He'll pass out and then you'll never get a word out of him."

Kimblee snaps, "Shut it! Do not interfere with these men's methods!"

Hughes raises a hand defensively, "Hey, I'm just saying-"

"You have no right to speak to these men!" Kimblee sneers at him. "And even less of a right to tell them what to do!"

Hughes now waves both his hands, "I wasn't doing anything like that."

Kimblee turns away from Hughes and faces Trumbauer and Flagge, his voice returning to its normal, unnervingly calm timbre, "Please, ignore him. He's nothing but an enlisted man."

Hughes glowers at the lieutenant.

Kimblee continues with a smarmy tone, "You shouldn't expect him to understand the delicacies of interrogation. After all, most SA men are nothing but beer hall brawlers and street fighters. They're not refined like us-"

Before he knows it, Kimblee's hat is plucked off of his head! He gasps, his breath leaving him, eyes bulging and jaw slack.

Hughes, standing behind Kimblee, holds the officer's hat in his hand. Hughes says, in a very casual tone, "You know, my wife Gracia sometimes lightens her hair. And I've always noticed that when her hair starts to grow back out, that it's really dark at the roots. But _you_ –"

Kimblee grits his teeth, clenching his fist, his shoulders beginning to tremble.

Hughes points out, "Your roots are a **lot** darker than hers. Let me guess – **_black_** hair?"

Kimblee whips around and rips his hat out of Hughes hand. His face as red as his swastika armband, Kimblee shoves his hat back onto his head, Trumbauer and Flagge laughing all the meanwhile.

"Hawhawhaw! Yeah! Nice pure blood you got there!"

"I bet you don't even know who Joseph I was, you fibber!"

The soldiers continue guffawing raucously.

Kimblee moves in close to Hughes, pointing a threatening finger at the sergeant, growling, "You've just made a costly mistake! This isn't over!"

Kimblee forcefully pushes Hughes to the side, the sergeant jamming his shoulder up against the wall – a mildly impressive feat considering the sergeant is larger than the lieutenant.

Kimblee storms down the hall, the laughters of the SS soldiers echoing after him.

Kimblee approaches Commander Amsel's door, and it's not until he's right up on it that Kimblee realizes how fast he's walking and with what force he's been swinging his arms. He stops in front of the door and takes a moment to calm down, breathing in a breath and slowly breathing it back out.

Immediately, he puts on a smile, as if absolutely nothing is wrong.

He enters, "Commander Amsel?" he asks cheerfully.

"Ah! There you are!" Amsel chimes. "What kept you?"

Kimblee, his movements stiff, gently closes the door, "Forgive me. I was delayed."

"Ah, no worries," the commander says. "I've got a job for you, Lieutenant."

Kimblee bows his head slightly, "Of course, sir."

"The cooks tell me that there have been rations going missing from the stores. I need you to look into it and find out who's been taking more than their fair share."

Kimblee's smile drops, "What? You want me to investigate missing food?"

Amsel says, "Well I don't expect you to find anything. Whoever stole it has probably eaten it already. Just find out who it is and be sure they receive proper reprimand."

Kimblee raises his voice, somewhat startling Amsel, "Sir! I really think I should remain on the Mustang case! Finding that weapon is more important than some missing food!"

"Lieutenant! What's gotten into you?"

Kimblee catches himself, realizing how he's acting, and yet he can't quell the energy pumping throughout his body, can't stop his hands from shaking. He straightens himself up, "I'm sorry, sir… I'm just… passionate, is all. I just want to follow through on the orders from High Command."

The commander lets out a heavy sigh through his nose, and then he rises from his desk and approaches Kimblee, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Listen, son. I know you've got your heart set on this. But if you really believe in the ways of the SS, then you'll trust Trumbauer and Flagge to do their jobs and do them well. Let _them_ worry about that secret weapon. We've got a job to do _here_, _now_. We've all got our lot in life, and this is it."

Kimblee, eyes downcast, mutters, "Yes sir."

Amsel pats him on his arm and says, "Now get a move on. I know you won't let me down."

Kimblee inwardly sighs.

Rick pokes his head into the kitchens, making sure the coast is clear. He sprints across the open space, past the large table, its tablecloth billowing as he breezes past, and Rick gets to the end of the kitchen, quickly throwing open the pantry doors. As quick as a flash, he opens up a burlap sack that once held potatoes, and with the full-length of his arm, he scoops a shelf's worth of food into the bag.

It doesn't even matter what the food is – as long as it fits in the sack. He promptly clasps the opening of the bag together, shoulders the bag and starts to make a beeline back to the door – but the door is opening!

Rick gasps and the only thing he can think to do is to jump behind the door and let it cover him from the on-comers.

The chef and his assistant enter the kitchen, tying their aprons on. Rick cowers in the small corner, the door his only cover for the moment. Sitting there, he prays that they won't look in his direction as they close it.

Lucky for him, they do not, for the chef is distracted – "Not again!" The chef bumbles towards the open pantry. "When I find out who keeps doing this, there's going to be hell to pay!"

The assistant closes the kitchen door behind him, and Rick stays stock still, trying not to do anything whatsoever to catch their eyes. The assistant says, "I wonder if it's those two new soldiers who transferred here. I mean, that's about when this started, right?"

The chef sarcastically laughs, "HUH! Don't let _them_ hear you say that! They'd boil your bones for soup, boy!"

Quietly, and still sitting on the ground, Rick begins sliding his way across the floor, trying to get close to the door handle. But how to open the door? If he stands up, they might see him!

"Oh well…" The chef turns away from the pantry. Rick darts forward, diving under the table, the cloth hiding him on all sides. "Let's get started, huh?"

The assistant says, "I'm not looking forward to more belly-aching from the enlistees."

The chef, pulling some bowls out of the cabinets, remarks, "You know how it goes: Officers get fed first, then the enlisted men. That's just the way things are."

Rick can see the men's silhouettes as they move back and forth throughout the kitchen. Just a few seconds – just a few seconds is all he needs to get out the door!

Cautiously, he peeks out from underneath the tablecloth. Yes! Both of the chefs are facing the countertops, their backs are to him!

Quietly, he slips out from underneath the table and tiptoes to the door. Slowly, he turns the door handle, any sound it making hidden beneath the constant noise of the chopping of vegetables and the pounding of meat.

And like a shadow, Rick slips out of the kitchen, unnoticed.

Later in the evening, after the workers have finished their shift, they all pile into the prisoner's mess hall to get their dinnertime gruel. Leo waits in line when Rick scurries up to him, a little breathless.

Leo looks down at his brother, "Rick! Where have you been! You had me worried sick!

"I'm sorry, Leo," Rick says, looking up to his brother.

Leo pulls his brother closer, saying lowly, "Do _not_ go running off! Otherwise you might end up disappearing like the others!"

Rick cocks his head to the side, "What others?"

"You know those new prisoners they brought in a few days ago? Well I've talked with some of the guys around here – and none of them say that those new prisoners have been assigned to their barracks. Apparently, they all went into Building Five, and they never came back out."

Rick shakes in his thin shoes, "W-well then that means they're not missing. They're just in Building Five is all! Maybe they're on lock-down and they're not allowed to leave."

"Regardless," Leo says, "Don't leave my sight, okay?"

Rick nods. He then hears the door of the mess hall open, and he looks over. He gasps, "Mr. Mustang!"

Entering is Roy, his face bruised and a large bulge forming on his forehead. He slowly makes his way to the food line as Rick comes rushing up to him, tugging at his sleeve.

"Mr. Mustang! What happened?! Are you all right?!"

Roy manages to crack a smile, even though it hurts to move his face, "Don't worry. I've had worse." He's lying, of course, but Roy doesn't want to make Rick anymore upset than he already is.

"What did they do to you?" Rick questions, still concerned.

Roy gently shakes his head, "Nothing that I can't handle." He then gently pushes on the little boy's back, moving him back towards his brother, "You should go, before you lose your place in line."

With a gloomy frown, Rick says, "Okay…" unconvinced that Roy is actually okay, and he leaves to rejoin Leo towards the front of the line.

Later, after he's received his bowl of gruel, Roy makes his way to one of the tables, deciding to join Rick and Leo. Leo politely tries to ignore the older man's black eye and somewhat gross-looking face, but Rick seems very happy to have him around, the little boy swinging his legs back and forth underneath the table.

"Is it true that in the big city, they have wagons that run on electrical wires?" Rick asks excitedly.

Roy responds, "Trolleys, you mean. Yes, we have those."

"Neat-o! We don't have anything like that in the countryside! Our lights are still gas-powered, but I hear in the city, you've got electricity!"

Roy chuckles, "Well, not everyone in the city has electricity. Some houses do still use gas, but there's been a big shift towards electric lighting."

Leo scoffs, looking away from them both, "You might as well stop talking about it, Rick. It's not like we're ever going to see a big city."

Rick says determinedly, "We could too! We can go after we get out of here!"

Leo turns back to his brother, "Yeah right! Even if we do get out of here, do you think they want people like us in the cities? No! We'd be better off trying to get out east!"

Roy drags his spoon through his gruel and asks, "Where out east would you like to go?"

Leo looks at Mustang, but then looks down at the table, unable to look the man in the face, "Our grandfather told us stories that his grandfather told him – out east there's a city called Baghdad. He says it's a really beautiful place, with tropical fruit and beautiful buildings."

"Is that so?" Roy asks, letting the boy talk, glad to actually hear some excitement in Leo's voice for once.

"And it's sunny there all the time! And he said that the girls are beautiful, too!"

Roy chuckles, "German girls not your type, huh?"

Leo looks away, pouting, "No, it's more like _I'm_ not _their_ type. They always look at us like we're dirty or something."

Roy sighs, "I'm afraid that's not a uniquely German trait. Unfortunately all over the world, there are people who fear others that don't look like they do." Roy says, more resolutely, "But you must understand, that there are more good people in this world than there are bad."

Leo purses his lips, "That's kinda hard to believe behind barbed wire…"

Roy wishes there is something more he can say, but he knows Leo has a point.

Their conversation is interrupted, however, when from the corner arises an argument. "Please! Just leave us alone!"

Most of the prisoners look over to the corner to see what's going on. In the corner sit the Jewish prisoners, marked as such by the yellow Star of David sewn to their uniforms. Another prisoner, one with a red triangle on his uniform, stands shouting at them, his finger pointing at them accusingly, "If you people hadn't come to our country in the first place, then maybe the Nationalists never would have organized and the rest of us wouldn't be stuck here!"

Murmurs of agreement begin to arise from other prisoners. Guards who stand near the door smirk, clearly hoping that the prisoners will riot and attack the Jews huddled in the corner.

One of the Jewish men, perhaps a rabbi as he's been standing this whole time trying to lead the people in prayer, demands, "Please! Just let us say our prayers and eat in peace!"

The red-triangled man shouts, "Maybe I don't wanna hear your Hebrew prayers! Maybe you should be saying some Christian prayers instead!"

"Yeah!" Many more of the prisoners agree loudly.

Leo stands up, Rick tugging on the back of his uniform, "Leo, don't!"

Leo shouts, "Maybe not all of us are Christian! Did you ever think about that?!"

"Shut up, mudface!" The red-triangled prisoner yells at Leo, and Leo runs forward, Rick losing his grip on him.

"Leo, no!"

But he doesn't get far before Roy grabs him by the wrist, stopping him.

Leo struggles, "Let me go!"

Roy stands up, glaring sternly at the young boy before him. Leo is very uncomfortable with this man's gaze upon him, for once noticing how tall he is in comparison to himself.

Roy releases Leo, and then silently, he strides towards the group of men gathered in the corner. All eyes are upon him, watching this prisoner who strangely carries himself as tall as an officer.

Roy stops in front of the table of yellow-starred prisoners. He looks directly at the man standing and asks him, "You believe in the God of Abraham?"

The man nods, "We do."

With a nearly threatening air, Roy turns his gaze to the man with the red triangle. "And you believe that Jesus descended from the line of Abraham?"

The man responds, "Well… Yeah, but-"

Roy then turns back around towards Leo, and he says loudly enough for the whole room to hear, "And Leo – Your people also descend from Abraham and pray to his God?"

Leo is quiet for a moment, and humbly answers, "Yes."

Roy, looking from one side of the room to the other, says aloud, "And the rest of you here, even if you do not pray to the God of Abraham, believe that there is indeed a higher power? A being who created the universe?"

A sea of nodding heads greets him.

"Then I say to you that we must not fight. Though we may refer to the Great Architect of the Universe by different names – Yahweh, God, Allah, and many others – we are all his children. That makes us all Brothers. And in order to survive trials and tribulations, Brothers must not fight amongst themselves – but instead we must remain strong, and continue to have faith in our Father, no matter what we call Him or how we pray to Him."

The room falls into silent reverence. The rabbi looks as though he is about to cry as a trembling smile arises on his face. The man with the red triangle slumps his shoulders, looking down at the ground. Even Leo manages to smile a little.

Roy approaches the rabbi and asks, "Sir. I would be honored if you would allow me to lead everyone here in prayer."

The rabbi nods.

Roy walks to the middle of the room and says, "How many meals have we received in this place, and not once have thanked our Father for feeding us, no matter how humble the meal may be?"

Again, more shoulders begin to slump.

Roy says, "Please, bow your heads."

And the prisoners all do so.

The guards, standing at the door, glance at one another with concern.

The guards are later in Amsel's office. He inquires, "Is that so?"

One of the guards nods, "Yes sir."

Amsel looks down at his desk, "Well we can't have that, can we? We've worked too hard to break these prisoners' spirits. That's all we need is someone for them to rally around." He grumbles, "I liked it better when this Mustang _wasn't_ a rabble-rouser. Maybe whipping him was the wrong move. All it's seem to have done is motivate him further…"

He leans back in his chair with a grumble.

"But we can't _not_ punish him either! What sort of message will that send to the prisoners?"

"Not to mention," he suddenly hears Kimblee's voice say, the lieutenant entering through the open door, "That if we lock him up for leading them in prayer, that will only anger the prisoners and might possibly lead them to riot. People tend to be foolishly attached to religion."

"Oh, hello Kimblee," Amsel says rather absently. "How goes the hunt for the food thief?"

Kimblee smirks, "I think our thief problem may actually present us with our solution."

The commander raises an eyebrow, "How so?"

Still smirking, Kimblee responds, "We can easily pin the robberies on Mustang and throw him, permanently, into Solitary for it. Not only is it a less emotionally-charged offense, but also if the other prisoners discover that Mustang has been hoarding food for himself and not sharing with them, they'll think it just that he gets what he deserves. They'll be _happy_ to see him locked away."

Amsel asks, "And what happens when the food thief strikes again?"

"Hopefully," Kimblee says, "What happens to Mustang will be enough to motivate them to quit their thieving. If it does happen again, we'll dispose of whoever it really is."

"Very well, Amsel says with a waving of his hand, "Do what needs to be done. I trust you, Lieutenant."

Kimblee bows, looking less like a soldier and more like a butler. "Thank you, sir."

Roy lays on his cot, allowing the cool night air to provide some relief to his still sore forehead. He hears a shuffling coming from the ladder, and once more, he is greeted by Rick.

He smiles at the boy, "Hey. It's late. Aren't you sleepy?"

Rick shakes his head, "No, I'm all right. Are you feeling any better, Mr. Mustang?"

Roy chuckles in his throat, knowing that the answer is no, but he says to the boy, "I'm all right."

"Here, I brought you something," Rick says, lifting up his tin drinking cup.

"Hmm?" Roy questions, sitting up to see what it is that Rick has. He takes the cup as it's handed to him, and Roy looks inside. "What's this?" Inside the cup is an egg and a chocolate bar.

Rick explains, "When I was little, I once fell over and got a bump on my head. My mom made me all better using an egg and some chocolate." He looks down and to the side, "Of course, she used some ice too, but we don't have any ice." He cheers up and looks back at Roy. "Still! I'm hoping this will help!"

"Where did you get these?" Roy asks.

"Uh…"

"Rick?" Roy asks again, sounding rather fatherly.

Rick mutters, "I got them from the soldier's kitchen."

Roy slightly chides him, "That was very reckless of you, Rick. What if you got caught?"

"I'm sorry," the boy apologizes, "I just wanted to help."

Roy sighs, and then pats him on the head. "Thank you. But please, promise me that you'll never do it again."

Rick, once more, looks down sadly. "…Okay."

The next morning, the bugle sounds, as per usual. And the prisoners arise, as per usual. And they all trudge out the door, as per usual. What is not usual this morning, it that the door of the prisoner's mess hall is being boarded shut!

Atop the short steps leading into the hall, Sergeant Hughes stands in front of the door, hammer in hand, pounding away, as a couple of guards protect him while he works.

"What's going on?"

"Why are we shut out?!"

"Hey! I'm hungry!"

"Open up!"

The guards have to keep them back, the prisoners all clamoring, becoming panicked as they begin to crowd in towards the door.

"ATTEEEN-TION!" Lieutenant Kimblee shouts at them.

Immediately, the men are silent and they all snap to attention.

Kimblee shouts further, "Formation! Now!"

Just as the day they had arrived, the prisoners scurry into a rectangle formation, everyone silent and staring straight at the lieutenant.

Kimblee paces back and forth in front of the men, like a tiger prowling in a cage. After a long while, he finally says, "No doubt you've noticed our redecorating. I felt it necessary considering you're all so obviously well-fed."

Though tempted to murmur, the men remain quiet, though they do glance at once another.

Kimblee's eyes flit over to them, looking at them out of the side of his eye. "Hmm? You all seem confused. Or maybe you haven't heard." He faces them. "_Someone_ here has been stealing food from the soldiers. Such a thing will NOT be tolerated! As such, NO ONE will be eating!"

At that, the crowd does break out into a murmur, loud, panicked even. Though they know better than to speak out, their stomachs, not their brains, are in charge at this moment.

"SILENCE!" Kimblee thunders, and the murmuring dies into a whimper. Kimblee continues his pacing. That same old snake-charmer voice arises from his lips, "Now it's not entirely hopeless. I'll let everyone here eat again – but only after the culprit comes forward."

Rick gulps in his throat, feeling his arms and legs go cold but strangely his head and chest becoming very feverish.

Kimblee grins as he watches the faces of the men before him, able to see their minds scrambling for answers. "Come on now," he pries, "Don't be shy. Surely _someone_ here knows something…"

He passes by Mustang, who is the only one here whose face is as still as stone. Kimblee looks him straight in the eye and says, "Maybe the culprit took a steak to take care of a black eye?"

Roy narrows his one good eye at the officer.

Kimblee leans in, though Roy does not move at all. Kimblee continues to grin, scrutinizing, "Or maybe he only cares about filling his own belly while everyone else starves. Tsk, tsk. You know, Mustang," Kimblee continues, "Everyone else here seems surprised by the news. But not you. You look like you know something."

Finally, Roy breaks eye contact.

Kimblee gives a pleased, "Hmph! I knew it. Men! Take him awa-."

"WAIT!" Rick jumps out of the crowd, facing Kimblee. "It was me! I took the food!"

Roy shouts, "Rick, no!"

Leo pulls his brother back, lowly growling, "Shut up, you idiot!"

Rick breaks free of his brother's grasp and runs right up to Kimblee. "It was me! I admit it! I'm the one who's been stealing the food!"

This time, Kimblee gives a displeased, "Hmph. Pathetic! Are you really going to let a child pay for _your_ crimes, Mustang? I didn't take you as the spineless type."

Roy steps in front of Rick, shielding him from Kimblee, "It _was _me."

"Mister Mustang! No!"

"And I'm glad of it, too!" Roy continues.

The prisoners listen attentively as Roy talks, even some of the nearby soldiers interested. From his place atop the short steps, Hughes can see everything that's going on.

Roy shouts, "I'm glad! Because if it means taking food out of your greedy gullets and giving it to people who really need it, then I'd steal a hundred pounds worth of food!"

Kimblee grills him, "You're such a lying piece of filth!" He looks at the prisoners, "Has he been giving food to any of you? NO! He's been keeping it all to himself!"

"I was planning on passing it out today," Roy says, his gaze going to the corner of his eye as he discreetly looks over at Rick, "Because that's the right thing to do."

Tears form in Rick's eyes.

"It's not right to keep all that food," Roy says. "It belongs to everyone."

Rick nods, understanding.

Kimblee hisses, "Spare me! You're nothing but a belly-to-the-ground snake!"

Roy shouts as loud as his lungs will carry, "A snake has more honor than you!"

Mumbles of surprise arise from the crowd, even a few snickers from some guards. Kimblee is taken aback.

Roy continues shouting. "A snake only attacks to eat or when it feels threatened! But YOU! You hurt people on a daily basis, because you _like_ it! You say you're just following orders! Just doing your job! But a snake does not act outside of his nature! Is it in your nature, then, to cause pain to your fellow man on a daily basis? To make him a slave? To starve him and degrade him? If it's not in your nature – THEN WHY DO YOU DO IT?"

Hughes, still standing silently atop the steps, feels something move within him…

Still staring Kimblee straight in the face, Roy, tears of passion rising in his eyes, yells at the man, "IT'S BECAUSE YOU'RE A MONSTER!"

Roy takes a step towards the lieutenant, and like a shot, Kimblee pulls out his handgun and points it at Roy's head, everyone in the crowd backing away quickly with gasps and yelps.

Kimblee clutches the gun tightly, his focus fixed squarely upon Mustang, Roy's eyes like daggers, stabbing back at Kimblee.

"Do it," Roy says in a deep voice. "I dare you."

Kimblee's finger trembles on the trigger. With an exasperated grunt, he instead smacks Roy across the mouth with the gun, and then holstering it, orders the nearby soldiers, "Put him in Solitary!"

Two soldiers come up, clapping handcuffs onto Roy's wrist.

Kimblee leans in and says, loud enough for everyone to hear, "And this time, don't let him back out! You're going to stay in there for the rest of your life! Take him away!"

And for the second time since arriving here, Roy is dragged off to Solitary Confinement.

A guard stands outside the door, quietly doing his duty, when Sergeant Hughes comes up to him.

"I'll take care of this one," the sergeant says.

"Are you sure?" the soldier asks. "He seems kinda wiley. You think you can handle him?"

Hughes says, "Please. He can't be that bad."

"All right," the soldier says a little skeptically, "But if he escapes, it's you're neck, not mine."

The guard leaves his post, Hughes taking over for him. After the guard has exited the building completely, Hughes briefly looks over his shoulder at the door. And then he turns towards it and, turning the handle, he enters.

Roy sits alone in his cell, the single light bulb dimly lighting the whole place. There is a single chair in this room, positioned on the _other_ side of the bars where Roy can't get to it, as if to tease him with comfort he can never have.

The door opens and entering is the sergeant, Hughes. Roy crinkles his nose at him, and then turns to the side, leaning his back against the nearest wall, ignoring the soldier.

Hughes is silent as he pulls up the chair and takes a seat, its back against the same wall Roy has his back against, Hughes staring across the room at the same wall Roy stares at.

Both are absolutely silent, only the slight electrical hum of the light bulb creating any sort of sound.

Finally, Hughes speaks, saying, "You know, I've never liked snakes…"

Roy continues staring forward at the wall.

"…But if there's one thing I like even less than snakes," Hughes turns towards Roy with a great big grin on his face, "It's Kimblee."

Roy looks out of the corner of his eye, his face unchanging.

Slowly, the smile fades from Hughes' face. He sighs, looking back forward at the wall opposite of him. He clasps his hands together, interlocking his fingers as he sits there. "…What you said out there… You're right, you know…"

Roy finally turns his head towards Hughes to look at him, but Hughes does not meet his gaze.

"…It really isn't in my nature to be doing this… but you've got to understand… It's more complicated than that…"

"Hmph," Roy once more looks forward at the wall opposite him. "I'm sure it is…"

"If it's any consolation," Hughes says, once more facing Roy, "I'll make sure that little kid doesn't get caught."

Roy looks over at Hughes, each finally looking the other in the eye. Roy says sternly, "Weren't you listening? I said I was the one who stole the food."

Hughes gives a knowing smile, "Please. I'm a dad – I can tell when kids are lying. And he wasn't" When Roy looks away again, Hughes adds, "Hey, don't worry. I'll make sure he and his brother stay safe…"

Roy does not answer.

Both men return to being quiet, Hughes leaning back in his chair, twiddling his thumbs. He chuckles to himself, "You know, I had a friend back in Munich who was really stubborn. Once he had his mind set on something, there was no stopping him. You kinda remind me of him."

Roy says nothing.

Hughes says, "Who knows – maybe when this is all over, you two can meet someday. I think you'd get along."

Mustang chuckles sarcastically, "Hopefully he's not as ugly as you." He turns and looks at Hughes with a smirk.

Hughes sees this and smirks back, "This coming from the guy with a black eye."

They both laugh a little, and then slowly, return to staring silently at the wall, the rest of the shift passing in silence…

*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
You know, I never actually say it in the story, but I'd like to think that the cook and his assistant are Sig and Mason. Just 'cuz. We're never gonna see them anyplace else in the story, so why not throw them in here?

Also, is anyone else amused that Roy, who currently has a messed-up eye, is shouting about honor, like Zuko? And that he's shouting it at Kimblee who's a "people person" (can read people easily), who is calm and reserved, but really is seething with pure rage and is a psychopath, like Azula? Because I just realized this...


	12. Heart and Sword

The slimy black creature crawls forward, towering above, each step it taking swaying the beast from side to side, every heavy footstep leaving a black, gunky trail in its wake. It crawls its way out of the open door, its large claws curling around the beaten and broken metal frame.

It growls with an inhuman rumble, crying, "_I must destroy it!_"

Hughes pulls out his pistol and shoots the monster right in the head. It stops it trudging, staring at him momentarily through its glassy, red, lifeless eyes.

Hughes can feel every muscle in his body tense, and even though he is afraid, he is ready to strike again.

The monster keeps moving forward! And then it falls over, dead, the black slime bursting into the air and subsiding, revealing within the monster is not a monster at all, but a woman, a blonde woman, blood now oozing from her writhed, lifeless body, the red puddle around her head becoming a pool, its tide growing ever closer to Hughes's feet.

Hughes gasps and sits up, finding himself in bed. He holds his hand to his head, sighing. _That same dream…_ he says to himself. But he knows it is not really a dream so much as it is a memory, twisted and distorted from years of silence.

What had happened in Munich all those years ago… it can never be spoken…

Hughes sits at his small desk in his small room. On the one hand, he is lucky that he has a room to himself and doesn't have to share with another soldier. On the other hand, the room is so small he might as well be living in the broom cupboard.

He scribbles on a piece of paper whatever comes to mind:

"Dear Gracia,

Thank you so much for the care package! You know I love your cookies so much – almost as much as I love you! Also, the Swiss Officer's knife you sent is really handy. Thanks. How's Elise doing? Is she behaving? Does she miss me? I miss her. I miss you both. Tell her to be a good girl while Daddy's gone…"

He sighs for a moment, thinking he should write about how he's doing, _But what can I possibly tell them?_ he asks himself. Nothing that goes on in this prison camp is the kind of thing to write home about…

He taps his pencil on the desktop, blunting the lead with each _tap, tap, tap!_ He remembers the words of the prisoner Roy: "If it's not in your nature – THEN WHY DO YOU DO IT?"

Hughes sighs once more, sitting back in his chair…

A train pulls into the station, heaving to a stop, steam violently bursting forth from the metal beast as it comes to a rest.

The soldiers slide open the doors and begin piling the people out of the cars like cattle. "Come on! Move it, all of you!"

Hughes trots up with a clipboard in hand, "Sorry I'm late."

"Don't worry about it," the officer tells him, "These ones don't need to be catalogued."

"What?" Hughes asked, confused, "Why not?"

"They're not gonna be here that long," the officer says, a strange sort of self-satisfaction sounding from his voice. Before Hughes can inquire further, the officer turns his attention back to the soldiers at the cars, "All right! You know the drill! To Building Five with these ones!"

Hughes clutches to his clipboard, feeling a heat arise in his stomach as he frowns at the officer. No one here has said it, but they all know – they know why it is that these prisoners aren't being catalogued. Once they go into Building Five… they're never coming back out again.

Hughes turns away before he should catch one of the prisoners' eyes. That's the last thing he needs is to put a human face to the situation…

Roy sits quietly in his cell, the heat of the day beginning to wear on, he feeling as though he is trapped inside a brick oven. He misses the small window that was above his bunk in the barracks, the soft bit of coolness it provided during the long nights…

The single light bulb in the room continues its incessant humming, like a little fly clinging to his ear, endlessly buzzing. Roy covers his ears, unable to believe how such a relatively quiet thing can sound so loud in this silent space.

He looks down at the ground. He misses Rick and Leo's voices. For a short while there, it was almost like being back home with Ed and Al…

_Are they okay?_ Roy worries. The fact that Trumbauer and Flagge are still here interrogating him means that, at the least, the bomb has not been found… But what of Ed and Al? Now that he's locked away in Solitary, there's no way for Roy to know what's going on outside of these walls…

His stomach grumbles intensely, and he clutches it. He chuckles softly. He misses, too, Rick's small gifts of stolen food – but he hopes, sincerely, that the boy has stopped his thieving as promised. There's no way he can protect Rick from inside this cell…

The door to the room opens and Roy looks up to see who it is. Not Trumbauer or Flagge, thank goodness, for their arrival usually entails a beating. No, it is just a young soldier, a private, carrying a small tray with a bowl of gruel on it.

The soldier comes into the room, not even very far, and sets the bowl down – on _his_ side of the bars, _away _from Roy. And without a word, the soldier turns and leaves, closing the door behind him, the bowl of gruel left sitting in front of the door, miles from Roy's reach.

Roy sighs with a grumble. _At least it's cold, _he thinks to himself. Were it hot food, surely the smell would waft its way over and make him even more hungry.

"Are you serious?" the one soldier asks the other, trying not to laugh.

The two soldiers stand outside Building Five, quietly snickering between themselves. The other soldier responds, "Swear to God!"

The first soldier covers his mouth trying to hold it in, "I can't believe Lieutenant Kimblee dyes his hair! That's the kind of stuff my mom does!"

The other soldier takes off his helmet, running his fingers through his hair as he mockingly muses, "Oh yes! My beautiful golden hair is 100% natural! And my eyes are only so brown because I'm full of-"

His friend is frantically motioning for him to shut up, and the soldier turns around to see why, yelping, "LIEUTENANT KIMBLEE! SIR!" The soldier salutes, slapping his helmet back onto his head.

Kimblee's glare looks sharp enough to cut the man clear across his throat: "No, please," Kimblee says with that slithering sound to his voice, "Continue."

The soldier shakes in his boots, "S-sir, I was just saying that you have beautiful eyes, I mean, not in that way, of course not! I would never insinuate-!"

"SILENCE!" Kimblee snaps, and the soldier curls his lips inwards, biting down on them. "Your job is to guard this building, not flap your jaws! Do you understand me?"

Both soldiers salute with a shout, "Sir, yes sir!"

"Good," the lieutenant growls with a deep voice, and he strides away, a dark cloud lingering about his presence.

Once the lieutenant is out of sight, the one soldier smacks the other in the arm. "You idiot! Why didn't you tell me he was right behind me?!"

"I tried!"

Kimblee prowls across the open campgrounds, relatively oblivious to everything happening around him. _Damn that Hughes! _He bitterly thinks. _Making a fool out of me! I'll show him! I'll put him on outhouse shoveling duty for the rest of his career!_

He stops walking and looks around.

_Where the hell is he, anyway?_

The door opens once more, and once more Roy looks up. Entering the room is Sergeant Hughes, carrying with him a small brown paper sack. Before he knows what's happening, Hughes accidentally kicks the bowl of gruel that was left in front of the door, the sad excuse for oatmeal slopping everywhere.

"What the?" Hughes looks down, seeing the mess. He scoots the bowl to the side with his boot, and then closes the door behind him. He walks towards the single chair in the room. "Can you believe it?" He says to Roy who still sits silently on the other side of the bars. "They put me on guard duty during the lunch hour. How boring is that? Oh well," He pulls up the chair and sits down near the cell, setting the paper sack on his lap. "It just means I'll have to eat lunch in here, I guess."

Roy narrows his eyes at the sergeant, Hughes unaware as he pulls a sliced sandwich out of the bag. He unwraps it, and as he does, half of the sandwich falls on the floor.

"Oh darn it!" Hughes says, looking at the food on the ground. "Now it's dirty. Oh well, I guess it's no good to me now…" Hughes looks away from it, closing his eyes as he prepares to eat the other half of sandwich still in his hand – but after a moment, he opens one eye, looking at Roy. When Roy does not move at all, Hughes looks him straight in the eye with smirk.

Roy smiles softly, understanding, and he moves forward and reaches through the bars, picking up the fallen half of the sandwich for himself. He brushes off the bread, it surprisingly not all that dirty, and Roy bites into it, happy for it.

Quietly, he and Hughes sit there, eating. Hughes's eyes wander around the room, not sure what to do to break the awkward silence. And then like a flash, he reaches into his pocket, pulling out his wallet, gleefully asking, "Have I told you about my daughter Elise?" and out rolls a long string of photos. "She's already four years old. Isn't she is just the most precious thing you've ever seen?!"

Roy blinks once or twice, confused by the sudden appearance of photos dangling in front of him. He swallows the bit of food in his mouth and turns to look at Hughes, "Can I ask just why it is you're trying to be so nice to me?"

Hughes purses his lips a little, folding up the string of pictures and tucking them back into his pocket. He turns forward in his chair, facing the wall across from him. "…" He moves to say something, and then falls silent again. "…When I saw you defending those boys from Kimblee… It got me thinking… If something happened that my family got put into prison like this… I would do everything in my power to protect my daughter…"

Hughes looks back over at Roy.

"I don't know whether you have children or not, but you've got that same flare – that same fatherly instinct. I guess," Hughes says, "I guess, I see a little of myself in you. We're not all that different."

Roy gives a little, "Hmph," and says, "If you were like me, you'd leave the military. That's what I did."

"I've already told you," Hughes frowns slightly, "It's more complicated than that."

" 'Just following orders,' right?" Roy snips.

Hughes crosses his arms, "Well if you're going to simplify it, yes."

"And that's the life you want to lead?" Roy questions, "Always following someone else's orders?"

Hughes says sarcastically, "The life of a soldier. What can I say?"

"If you're serious about staying in the military," Roy tells him, "You need to get yourself to a position where you'll never have to follow unreasonable orders ever again."

Hughes gives a short laugh, "Become Fuhrer you mean. Yeah, that'd be nice, giving the orders for a change."

"Being a leader is not just about giving orders," Roy says, "It's about taking care of the people in your charge." He continues, "If it really bothers you so much to have to follow orders that don't sit right with your conscience, you could put yourself in a position of power that will keep other soldiers from having to go through what you're going through now."

Hughes again faces the wall, arms still crossed, "Pfft! Yeah, sure. You'd have to be able to prevent war in general to keep people out of the military life. But that's never gonna happen."

"So you're just going to keep doing what you're doing without a second thought?"

"Hey, we've all got our lot in life."

"And you're content to leave it at that?"

"I'm not _happy _about it, if that's what you're thinking. This isn't what I asked for."

"And you think this is what _I _asked for?"

Hughes whips back around to him, "Hey! I'm just trying to-!"

But the handle of the door turns, and both of them look over, Roy quickly tossing the remaining bit of his sandwich through the bars and under the chair.

Entering the room are the large SS soldiers, Trumbauer and Flagge. Trumbauer cracks his knuckles, "Guess what time it is?"

Flagge looks at Hughes and asks, "What are you doing in here?"

Hughes stands, calmly folding his hands behind his back (doing his best to keep the paper sack from making noise), "Just keeping an eye on him, sirs. Will you be requiring anything?"

"Yeah," Trumbauer says with a grin, "When you see Kimblee, tell him thanks for the laughs!"

He and Flagge chortle, and Hughes grimaces at them, "Rrriiight… Well, I'll be on my way then…"

Hughes walks past the men, leaving Roy in the room with them – but he stops at the door, hesitating as he looks back over his shoulder. And then he leaves.

Later that evening in the mess hall, Trumbauer and Flagge sit by themselves, off at a table against the wall, the two of them chatting and generally ignoring most of the other soldiers here.

"Uh-oh," Flagge says, sounding half-amused as he looks over Trumbauer's shoulder, "Heads up."

Trumbauer turns in his seat, leaning his arm over the back of his chair to see who's coming – and storming up to them is Lieutenant Kimblee.

Kimblee stops in front of them, slamming his hands down on their table, "Am I to understand that you interrogated Mustang without me?"

Trumbauer says, "Yeah, so?"

"So?" The intonation in Kimblee's voice rises slightly, "So Commander Amsel ORDERED you to let me sit in on these sessions!"

Trumbauer scoffs as he crosses his arms, "I think we can handle interrogating one prisoner without your help."

"Can you?" Kimblee whips his head towards Trumbauer. "Can you really? Just how much information _have_ you pulled out of Mustang so far? We're nowhere closer to finding that weapon than when we started!"

Flagge, always the calm one of the group, waves a hand, "Hey, calm down there, little man. You'll burst a blood vessel-" he tries to stop himself from snickering, but fails, "- Then you'll end up with _red_ hair!"

Both he and Trumbauer break out laughing, Trumbauer adding, "Even worse! Red and yellow make _orange! _He'd look like a damn pumpkin! Ahahaha!"

CRACK!

Kimblee slams his fist into the wall, right next to Trumbauer's head, and for once since arriving here, both Trumbauer and Flagge look surprised, nay, even scared. Kimblee stands looking down at Trumbauer, the lieutenant's face half-shadowed, for the light is behind him, his shoulders trembling and his teeth bared, growling as he stares, without blinking, straight at the soldier.

After a moment, Kimblee finally pulls his hand back from the dent he's left in the wall, and swiftly he turns on heel and storms away as fast as he had stormed in.

Kimblee is in his room, pulling out a bottle of aspirin from his medicine chest. As he closes it, he notices something in the mirror, right on his hairline, a dark purplish spot. What is that? Is that a bruise? He really did burst a blood vessel.

Angry, he slams the medicine chest close, he hearing everything inside it shifting and falling over, he too mad to care about it right now. He downs an aspirin, thinking,

_I've had it with those idiots! There's got to be a way to get them OUT of the way so I can get close enough to Mustang to interrogate him myself!…_

And after a moment of quiet thought, a snakely grin crawls its way up Kimblee's face…

Roy bites into the apple in his hand while at the same time clasping the thin burlap blanket closer to his shoulders. He looks up at Hughes and says, "You know, it's not hard to hide an apple core, but how am I going to explain having a blanket the next time someone comes in?"

Hughes shrugs his shoulders as he polishes his own apple on his sleeve, "I'll tell them truth – we can't interrogate a guy who froze to death," and he takes a bite of his apple.

Roy looks around the corners of his cell, "It is weird, this place. So hot during the day and so cold during the night."

"I'm not building a campfire, if that's what you want."

Roy manages a laugh, and Hughes smiles for it. Roy adds, "If you really want to be nice, you could always bust me out of here."

Hughes, with that same fatherly tone he's used before, says, "Hey, we've been over this. There's only so much I can do for you. Besides, if you got loose on my watch, imagine what that'd mean for me. Let me tell you, it wouldn't be pretty."

Roy smirks, "Fine, I'll knock you out before leaving – they can't blame you for not stopping me if you're unconscious."

"Pfft," Hughes crosses his arms and leans back in his chair, "Yeah right. They'd still blame me. I've already messed up enough as it is, I don't need this on my record, too."

Roy tilts his head to the side, "Messed up how?"

Hughes looks over at him with a frown, saying, "I'm not telling you."

"Hey, you brought it up."

Hughes sits silently twiddling his fingers, clenching his fist once or twice, and Roy can see the gears ticking in Hughes's mind. After a moment, Hughes looks away, "Nah, it's stupid."

"What, did you shoot a kid in the line of duty or something?"

"Well, not a kid, but…"

Roy is quiet, unsure of how much further he should press.

Hughes, leaning his chair back so far that it teeters on its two back legs, stares down at the ground with his brow furrowed and finally says, "I shot one of our own. I mistook them for one of the enemy and popped 'em right in the head…"

"Friendly fire, you mean."

Hughes scoffs, "I hate that term. It makes it sound so nice."

"But it was an honest mistake?"

"Well… yeah…"

"Well then you've nothing to worry about," Roy says, looking away, relaxed almost, "The Lord knows."

Hughes grimaces slightly, "You going to get all religious on me now?"

"Not if that's not where you're wanting to go…"

Hughes turns forward in his chair, staring at the wall opposite of him.

And Roy wants to leave the man to his silent thoughts, and yet, Roy still breaks through the silence, "…It's just… there's a symbol I know; maybe you've seen it – A sword pointing to a heart."

Hughes shakes his head slightly, "No, I can't say that I have."

"The Sword Pointing to the Naked Heart," Roy explains, "Even though we can hide our hearts from Men, our hearts are bare before the All-Seeing Eye of God. And sooner or later, Justice will come to us all."

Hughes tightens his lips, looking a little miffed.

"If what you did was truly an accident," Roy says, "God knows."

Hughes finally sets his chair back down, all four legs on the ground. _Justice, huh? _he thinks to himself. _Then Lord knows what's in store for me… for all of Germany, when this is all said and done…_

The cricket chirps cut through the otherwise silent darkness, lulling all the world to sleep. The communications officer, sitting in front of the wireless telegraph, can feel himself falling to the spell of the night, his head dipping gently as he starts to nod off.

When suddenly, the telegraph comes to life. He sits up straight, startled by the sound, and immediately grabs a pencil and paper to write down the incoming message.

Halfway through, he stops, confused, staring at the machine – but continues writing quickly lest he miss any of the message.

When done, he barrels out of the office, message in hand.

Outside the Comm Office, Kimblee, in a large overcoat, stands quietly in the shadows, holding onto a rather ingenious little device he's concocted – a makeshift telegraph sender, it wired into the receiver of the office. A grin crawls its way up Kimblee's face, he holding in a delighted chuckle…

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Commander Amsel stirs from his sleep, sitting up, rubbing his eyes. "Yes? What?"

The communications officer enters, saluting, "Commander! This telegram just came in!"

"Let me see," Amsel commands as he holds out his hand to receive the telegraph. He leans over to his table lamp, turning on the light and looks over the telegram for a moment…

He flips it over to see if there's anything on the back and then flips back to the front, re-reading the message. "What is this?" the commander asks, perplexed.

The officer nervously responds, "That's what the message said, sir."

"But that can't be right…"

The message reads:

"Will be sending two SS officers. Trumbauer and Flagge. Will arrive by the end of the week."

Kimblee quietly crawls back through his window, closing it behind him. He throws off his overcoat, his pajamas already on underneath them, and with a quick clearing of his throat, proceeds to put on a sleepy routine.

He opens his door and pokes his head out into the hall, the communications officer standing there at the door to Amsel's room just across the way.

"What's going on?" Kimblee asks drowsily.

Amsel is standing, putting on a robe while still holding onto the telegram. The comm officer stands to the side to let the commander pass as he exits the room, passing off the paper to Kimblee. "This message from High Command just came in," Amsel tells him. "I can't make heads or tails of it."

Kimblee looks it over, and he, too, looks confused. "Will arrive by the end of the week?"

"I know!" Amsel says, "They're already here!"

"But sir," Kimblee says, his voice growing dark, "What if they're not?"

"What are you getting at, Lieutenant?"

Kimblee leans in closer to the commander, but doesn't lower his voice at all, clearly wanting the nearby soldier to hear – "Haven't you noticed that the two SS soldiers we've been entertaining have been acting very strangely?"

"How so?" Amsel inquires.

"They don't carry themselves like SS, not like you, sir," Kimblee tacks on the old charm, but continues with an otherwise concerned air, "What if these two men claiming to be Trumbauer and Flagge are actually spies?"

"Spies?!" Amsel cries, his voice carrying down the hall, "In _my_ camp?!"

"It's a very real possibility we have to deal with, sir," Kimblee continues, "And it makes sense. Why else do you think they won't let me sit in on their interrogation sessions? They don't want us to hear! They plan to take the information they learn to our enemies!"

Amsel clenches his fist, trying to keep his voice low, "Maybe we're jumping to conclusions here. We can't be entirely sure about this…"

"But we can't take any risks either, sir," Kimblee tells him, his eyes resolute.

"What should we do?" Amsel asks.

And Kimblee smiles.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

"Get up!" a soldier screams from the other side of the door.

On the bottom bunk, Flagge sits up, "The hell is all that noise?"

Trumbauer, from the top bunk, shouts, "Hey! Keep it down out there!"

The door bursts open, soldiers entering the room with their guns pointed at the two men.

"Hey! What is this?!" Trumbauer shouts.

Amsel enters the room, and Flagge looks at the commander and demands, "What's going on?!"

"Gentlemen," Amsel says as he stares down at Flagge, "For the time being, I'm remanding you to Solitary Confinement."

"What?! What in the hell for?! You can't do this!"

"Yes, I can," Amsel says with a strong voice, "I outrank you. Now get up! Both of you!"

Several of the other soldiers in the barracks are poking their heads out of their rooms, curious at to what all the commotion is about.

Trumbauer and Flagge are begrudgingly being escorted out of their rooms, Amsel saying to their backs, "I'm sorry, but I'll explain everything later…"

Trumbauer shouts, "High Command is going to hear about this, do you hear me?!"

Outside the barracks, the soldiers escort the two SS down the front steps, shuffling them across the yard. Flagge looks out the corner of his eye and sees someone. He turns his attention fully to that direction, and sees Kimblee standing quietly off the side. Kimblee smiles a devious little smile and waves at him. Flagge grits his teeth, knowing that this is Kimblee's doing.

And both Trumbauer and Flagge are taken into the Solitary building, each man shoved into a separate cell, away from one another.

Amsel sighs, running his fingers through his thinning hair, "We'll worry about questioning them in the morning. I'm too tired for this right now."

"Sir," Kimblee says as he approaches the commander, "I hate to be a bother…"

"What now, Lieutenant?" the commander says, a little exasperated.

"Seeing as we can't trust any intel that these two have gathered from Mustang, perhaps you'd allow me to-"

"Will you drop the Mustang case already?" The commander snaps a little. "If these two claiming to be Trumbauer and Flagge really _are_ spies, we've got bigger problems than that Mustang prisoner! I'm going to need your help tracking down records to find out if these guys are who they say they are!"

Kimblee furrows his brow, holding in a sigh while at the same time trying to lay on his usual charm, "Of course, sir. The good of the camp comes first…"

"You're kidding me," Roy says, unable to believe what he's hearing. "Is that what all that noise was last night?"

Hughes, sitting in the chair backwards not unlike a schoolboy, says to Roy, "Yeah! It was actually pretty hilarious seeing those two carted out of their room. I've never really liked them, not since they first showed up."

Roy says, "You and me both."

"Well, understandably, you like them less than me," Hughes says, and then adds, "You know, my wife Gracia knows this great home remedy for taking care of bruises. She's had to use it once or twice when Elise has gotten herself a skinned knee. I can't remember what she uses, but I bet it'd help clear up your face a little."

Roy gingerly touches his still healing face, "Something about an egg and a chocolate bar, right?"

"A what?" Hughes tilts his head to the side, bemused, "How's that supposed to help?"

Roy shrugs, "I heard it from one of the other prisoners."

"Oh…"

"So your daughter," Roy asks, "She's the rough-and-tumble kind of kid?"

Hughes reaches into his pocket, once more producing his wallet full of photos, "Nah, not really, but she is at that age where she tries to climb up everything from stairs to trees." He hands the photos to Roy who takes them willingly and looks them over.

Roy smiles, "She's cute."

Hughes couldn't look more proud, "She's got her mother's face and my eyes! She's such a cutie!"

"And you said her name is Elise?"

Hughes nods and he stands up, turning the chair to sit in it normally, "Yeah – like that Beethoven song, _Für Elise_. When Gracia and I were dating, I gave her a little music box that plays that song. She loved it so much, she decided that's what we should call her."

Roy smiles, handing back the photos, "That's quite romantic."

Hughes folds up the photos, putting them back in his pocket. "What about you? Anyone back home to return to when this is all over?"

Roy looks down at the ground, "Not a wife, no. But a family, yes. My Brothers."

"Older? Younger?"

"Younger." Roy looks away, a little dejected, "With any luck, they haven't been arrested already."

Hughes chuckles, trying to keep the situation light, "Are they as big of troublemakers as you are?"

Roy does smile at this, "Oh, far worse! Especially the older one! He _lives_ to get in trouble!"

Both he and Hughes laugh, Hughes adding, "I knew a kid like that. He was a nice guy, but he was never one to listen to reason. He's actually how Gracia and I ended up getting together. He convinced me to stop dragging my feet and just ask her out."

"It's nice having someone like that, isn't it?" Roy chimes, "Someone just a little bit braver than us to push us in the right direction."

Hughes nods, putting his hands behind his head as he leans back in his chair, looking at the ceiling, "Yeah. That Edward. He was a character."

Roy feels his heart stop. Quietly he asks, "What did you say?"

"Hmm?" Hughes glances over. "Oh. The guy I knew back in Munich – his name was Edward. Why?"

Roy narrows his eyes at the sergeant, "You've been talking with Trumbauer and Flagge, haven't you?"

Hughes sits up, turning fully towards Roy, "What are you on about?"

"You've just been buddying up to me to try to pull info out of me."

"Huh?" Hughes tilts his head to the side, thoroughly confused. "I'm not sure I follow…"

"Get out," Roy demands. "Don't you dare talk to me."

"Geez, what the hell," Hughes says, perplexed.

"GET OUT!"

"Fine!" Hughes rises from his chair, "I'm only leaving 'cause I'm afraid you'll start throwing things at me – which, by the way, I ought to take back that blanket from you."

Roy rumples up the burlap as he stands and throws it through the bars at the soldier. "Take it!"

Hughes scoffs, "Crazy. No wonder they locked you up…" He doesn't take the blanket, but instead leaves it on the floor, and leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

Roy goes to the wall and gives it a swift kick, his blood pumping. "That bastard!" he says aloud to himself. "Trying to make me think he's my friend! I should have known better!"

Hughes is walking down the hall, towards the exit, grumbling to himself, "What a nutjob… Wait…" He stops walking. "He got angry when he heard the name Edward…" Hughes looks over his shoulder. "…I wonder…"

Flagge sits on the floor with his back to the wall, starting to nod off. He yawns and stretches, "Damn, this place is boring! I wish the commander would just hurry up and tell us what we're doing in here…"

The door opens.

"Oh, finally! Hey Commander, can you-"

But it is not the commander who enters.

Flagge raises an eyebrow, "Oh. What do you want?"

Hughes closes the door behind him and quietly, calmly, he approaches the bars. "Tell me – you came to this camp to interrogate the prisoner Roy Mustang, correct?"

"Yeah, so?"

Hughes crouches down to get to Flagge's level: "So what exactly have you been asking him about?"

Flagge turns his head away, nonchalantly picking his ear with his pinkie finger, "Why do you need to know?"

Hughes is quiet for a moment, and then responds, "Lieutenant Kimblee – he's usually really calm, but for some reason, this Mustang has got him all bent out of shape. I thought, maybe, you could enlighten me."

Flagge lets out an indignant scoff as he turns to look at the side wall, "That Kimblee! He's the reason we're locked in here! Just 'cause we laughed at him!" The soldier points at the sergeant, "And you better watch your ass! You're probably next on his shit-list after the way you showed him up like that!"

"Hey," Hughes defends himself, "You guys were the only ones there, and I certainly didn't tell the rest of the camp about him bleaching his hair."

Flagge crosses his arms, rather childishly, looking away from Hughes.

"Still," Hughes says, holding onto the prison bars as he looks through at Flagge, "Neither of us like Kimblee. And do you really want _him_ to get the collar on this one?"

Flagge glances out of the corner of his eyes at Hughes.

Hughes says, "Tell me what it is you're trying to find out from Mustang. And why you're still in here, maybe I can find out the info you need – _BEFORE_ Kimblee."

Flagge mulls this over in his mind for a moment, and then turns forward to fully face the sergeant, "Fine. Why not. If it means putting Kimblee in his place – We're trying to find a guy named Edward Elric."

Hughes gasps a little, but quickly calms himself down, continuing to listen.

"He and this Mustang guy have been living together for years. And a few years back, someone matching Elric's description showed up at one of our secret bases and stole a weapon from the Party."

"And you think Mustang knows where the weapon is?"

"If not the weapon, then definitely Elric," Flagge nods. "But this Mustang guy is tough. We haven't been able to get a peep out of him, say for screams of pain. What makes you think he'll talk for you?"

Hughes looks down at the ground.

The door to the room opens once more, and Roy, still on his feet, looks over to see the sergeant entering again.

"I thought I told you to stay out!" Roy shouts.

Hughes roughly closes the door behind him, locking it. Roy is starting to feel a little nervous, the sergeant striding up to the bars.

Hughes puts both his hands up, clinging to the bars as he stares through at Roy. He says lowly, "How much did Edward tell you?"

Roy, closer to the wall than the bars, silently glares back at the tall man. Roy tries not to betray his own confusion but can't help but furrow his brows.

Hughes asks again, "About Munich – how much did Edward tell you?"

"What are you talking about?" Roy questions.

Hughes leans in closer to the bars, saying heatedly though lowly, "I'm going to tell you something that I've never told _anyone_ – and you have to SWEAR on your LIFE that you will not repeat this to another soul!"

Roy calms down a little, his curiosity overtaking his cautiousness.

Hughes is quiet for a moment, and then starts: "Back in Munich… It was the night of the Beer Hall Putsch – when the uprising failed, I returned back to base to find Professor Haushofer, one of the men in charge…"

Roy tries to remain calm. _He could have easily learned that name from someone in the Party…_

"What I saw there… I'm not even sure what it was… on the ceiling there was this strange, glowing, golden… _thing_… It looked like a pool of light… And from out of it came an airplane, a whole airplane! It came crashing through, and there were these long dark _somethings_, I don't even know what they were, clinging onto the ship, and it just crashed, right there in front of us!"

Roy's heart is thumping in his chest. _This sounds like…_

"That person that I shot – the 'Friendly Fire' as it were – I didn't know it was a person. It came out of the airplane, a monster – I know it sounds crazy, but it was really a monster! It was big and black and slimy, and I didn't know what it was… but… It tried to attack a girl, so… I shot it… It turned out that the head of the Thule Society, Dr. Eckhart, was inside that thing. I don't know if it was some new sciencey suit or something but… Let's just say the Thule Society wasn't happy about me killing their leader…"

Roy finally speaks, "You worked for the Thule Society?"

"Well, not _for_ them," Hughes responds, "But with them. I was one of the original brownshirts." He chuckles cynically, "Most of the originals – hell, they're officers already. Me – I'm lucky to be alive – mostly because I was able to convince Commander Hess that what happened with Eckhart was an accident. And while he was able to forgive that… Well… I let, what were in his opinion, two of our biggest assets get away. In my opinion, they were people, not assets…"

Roy quietly listens, waiting for Hughes to start speaking again as he has fallen silent, his hands sliding down the bars as his shoulders slump, he looking at the floor.

"…You ask why it is that I do this job if it's not in my nature… It's because I _have_ to. I'm as much of a slave to the system as you are. I wanted to leave Germany years ago, but the Party won't let me. I _know_ too much." Hughes looks back up at Roy, "Just like you. You know about Ed and Al. You know about the Gate, don't you?"

Roy feels his heart leap into his throat. Not once, not _once_, have Trumbauer and Flagge, or anyone else here, questioned him about the Gate! The focus has always been on the bomb, or on Ed. "Where did you hear this story?!" Roy demands. "Very few people know that story, and you heard it from someone!"

"I didn't hear it from anyone!" Hughes cries, "I was **there**! I was _there_ when Ed came out of the airplane! I was _there_ when his brother Al popped out of a suit of armor and said that…" And then suddenly Hughes looks like he's been slapped across the face. "…No, that's impossible…"

"What's impossible?" Roy asks distrustfully.

"I've read your record – you were a captain, not a general…"

Roy feels _ready_ to slap Hughes across the face, "Tell me what you're talking about!"

Hughes says quietly, more to himself in a state of disbelief than to Roy, "Al said… that a General Mustang was on the other side of the Gate… getting ready to destroy it…"

And from his throat and into his feet Roy feels his heart drop. _There's no WAY he can know that!_ he thinks. _They've never told anyone but me about life on the other side…_

Hughes eyes rise to the ceiling as he thinks aloud, "And I sure didn't see _you_ come out of that airplane. Two Mustangs? One on either side of the Gate. Boy, that doesn't sound fun…"

"How do you know this?" Roy asks, trying so hard to keep his voice from shaking. "How do you know all of this?"

Hughes looks back at Roy. And he can see Roy's hand trembling ever so slightly. "…I should ask you how _you_ know this. It's because you really do know Ed and Al don't you?"

Roy says nothing, though sweat is collecting on his brow.

Hughes looks over his shoulder at the door momentarily. Certain no one is coming, he turns back to Roy and once more gently leans in towards the bar. He asks lowly, almost in a panicked whisper, "Are they safe? Are they okay?"

"I… I don't know."

"The Party, the Thule Society – are they trying to reopen that weird Gate?"

"I don't know that either," Roy says, "I know they tried it a few years back, but so far, I haven't heard a word about it."

"Then why are they so concerned about finding Ed and Al? What use could they possibly be to them?"

"Like you don't know-."

"No, I don't know!" Hughes covers his mouth, realizing how loud his voice is getting. He checks the door again and then continues, lower, "You know what, it doesn't matter! We've got to get you out of here!"

"Now you're pulling my chain-"

"I'm serious!"

"What about that whole, 'It'll end badly for me' routine you were putting on earlier?"

"With any luck, we can pin this on Kimblee somehow. All I know is, I've seen that Gate – I've seen the weird things that come out from the other side of it. And I don't want any monsters coming after my family. And if you can help Ed and Al prevent that, then by God, I'm gonna do what I can to help!"

Roy is silent for a moment, still trying to process all of this, still trying to weigh it. "…You're serious," he asks, still unsure if he can trust this man.

"Yes, I'm serious," Hughes says, now pacing the room, staring at the floor with a hand to his chin. "We can't do it now, it's the middle of the day. We'd have to wait until after nightfall, after everybody's already gone to bed…"

Roy has now approached the bars and watches the half-crazed sergeant pace back and forth. "…Not that I don't appreciate your help," Roy says, "… It's just… I still don't have any real reason to trust you. How do I not know this is a trap?"

Hughes waves him off, still staring at the ground as he paces, "You're already in a cell – why would we need to trap you?"

"Because this has Kimblee written all over it. This is some weird underhanded trick of his to get me to tell you people where Ed and Al are!"

"Shut up, you idiot. You want the whole world hearing you?"

Roy grumbles angrily.

Hughes keeps pacing back and forth, muttering aloud to himself, "No… no… maybe… No, that's a terrible idea. Augh," he rubs his temples, mumbling, "Keep moving forward, keep moving forward…"

"What did you say?" Roy asks quietly in disbelief.

Hughes stops momentarily and looks over at Roy, "Oh. 'Keep moving forward' – it's a saying my wife uses-" And then Hughes breaks out laughing, "That, now that I think about it, she got that from Edward! He used to be a tenant of hers in case he never told you."

Finally, miraculously, Roy feels his blood pressure coming down, his muscles relaxing a little, "As long as you've got two good legs-."

Hughes adds, "Then you can stand up and carry yourself-."

Roy finishes, "and you can keep on walking."

Together, both men say, "You can keep moving forward…"

Hughes smiles at Roy, "So how 'bout it? You ready to get the hell out of here?"

As quietly as he can, Hughes makes his way across the open campgrounds, avoiding the searchlights of the towers, and yet still trying to carrying himself as if on official business, for, should someone stop him, he is a soldier after all – he need only say he's running an errand for the commander…

Under his arm he carries a small parcel, wrapped in cloth so that it makes no noise as he shuffles across the grounds.

He looks around to make sure no one is looking his way. And then Hughes takes the keyring from his belt and opens the door into the Solitary Confinement building, gently closing it behind him to make sure the door does not even make the tiniest sound.

Once inside, Hughes quickly makes his way to Roy's cell, once more doing what he can to silently open and close the door behind him. He dashes up to the bars, slipping the parcel through. "Here!" Hughes says, "Put these on, quick! I managed to snag some civilian clothes from the pile before they got burned. Here's to hoping they fit." Hughes keeps talking as Roy starts to take off his prison uniform, "Put those on first. I also put in one of my uniforms, so it's probably a little too big, but that's good, 'cause it'll leave room for the clothes underneath."

Roy starts buttoning up the civilian shirt, "How much time do we have?"

Hughes is unlocking the cell, "We've got four different searchlights, and it takes about five minutes for one searchlight to cross the whole of the camp – that's about a spotlight passing over us every minute, give or take."

He opens the cell and Roy steps out, bringing the soldier's uniform with him and setting half of it on the chair while starting to put the other half on.

Hughes continues, "We can move in short bursts from one building to the next. Then, when we get to the north guard tower, we both climb up. I'll knock out the guard and take control of the light. After that, you've got a clear shot to climb down over the other side of the fence. I'll keep the spotlight to the inside of the camp so you've got the cover of darkness to get away."

Roy finishes buttoning up the soldier's uniform over the civilian clothing. "How long can you keep the light on the campgrounds before they get suspicious?"

Hughes passes to Roy a loaded weapon belt: pistol, bullets, and knife included on it, "If I move slowly enough, maybe a whole four minutes. After that, the light would be back around and facing towards the woods – but again, I'll keep it moving slow. And if you see the light coming towards you, just duck and cover. I won't call you out of course, but we've got to hope that none of the other guards look in your direction."

"And after that, then what?" Roy asks as he fastens the belt to his waist.

"After that, just keep running north. You'll hit the river in about half a kilometer. If we've timed this right, you should make it there just in time to ditch the uniform and catch the ferry. There's a ticket in the inside pocket there, so don't lose it."

Roy briefly reaches to the inside pocket of his coat to check and make sure it's there.

"And Mustang," Hughes says to him. Roy looks up. Hughes says, "When you see Ed, tell him to stay out of trouble, huh?"

Roy smiles and nods.

Hughes gently peers out through the crack in the door. And then like a shot, he darts out into the darkness, Roy following at his heels. They scurry across the open grounds, trying not to quick up a cloud of dust, and they quickly halt behind one of the barracks, pressing their backs up against the wall.

A searchlight passes over their heads, the barrack casting a long dark shadow over them. As the light fades, once more Hughes and Roy move, running towards the next building.

Roy again puts his back to the wall, but Hughes has turned the corner, and realizing Roy is not with him, Hughes reaches around the corner and quickly grabs Roy by the collar, bringing him around, right before a searchlight hits the spot where Roy had just been!

Both men stand silently, waiting for the light to pass, Roy having barely made it around the corner in time…

As the light once more fades, Hughes nods his head towards the north tower, and once more, silently they move.

Kimblee walks towards the Solitary building, happily grinning. _Finally!_ He thinks to himself. _A little alone time with dear old Mustang. That weapon is as good as-_

And then Kimblee stops in his tracks, gasping aloud. The front door is open. Why?!

He runs into the building, all the way to Mustang's cell. He whips open the door and…

"No…." Kimblee can't believe his eyes. The cell is empty! "NO!"

Like a banshee shriek, klaxons go off, blazing through the silence of the night.

"Shit!" Hughes exclaims.

"Now what?" Roy asks.

"Come on! This way!"

Both of them take off running, tearing across the yard towards the north tower – but the searchlights now move much faster, randomly, no pattern about their movements any longer.

"Halt!" they hear a soldier shout, and Hughes and Roy each dart in different directions. Hughes stops behind a building, back to the wall, when he realizes that Roy is no longer with him!

_Damn it!_ Hughes thinks, _Where did he go?!_

Roy slams the door behind him – there's no lock on the inside! He quickly looks around for something, _anything _to barricade the door with – when he feels his heart stop dead in its tracks.

_What is this place? _he asks himself as he looks around, trembling, unable to process what he's seeing. _This is…This is Building Five… _The stench. Suddenly the putrid stench he had smelled before made sense. The smell of rotting meat…

He feels weak at the knees, and he can feel something rising up from his stomach. He tries to hold it, but he can't, turning away to a corner.

In a cold sweat, Roy backs up towards the door, fumbling to find the handle in the darkness. There's no handle in here either!

He grasps vainly at the door frame, trying to find the littlest gap to get his fingernails into to try to pry open the door.

Like a miracle, the door opens – but not because of his own efforts, but because Hughes is on the other side, pulling it open. Hughes reaches in, grabbing Roy by the wrist, "Come on!"

And they run out of the building.

Kimblee runs from building to building, shouting orders, "Search every inch, inside and out! Look _under_ the barracks too! He's not going to get away!"

Something out of the corner of his eye catches Kimblee's attention: Two soldiers, running towards the north corner of the camp. Kimblee narrows his eyes, curious. _Where are they going?_

And he takes off running.

Roy and Hughes get to the final building closest the north fence, Roy looking up at the tall tower. "Now what?!"

Hughes looks around, "There's no time to climb it now. Your best bet is through!"

"You've got wire-cutters or something?!"

"That belt I gave you," Hughes says as he pulls out his pistol, "There's a Swiss Officer's knife in there! It might do the trick! I'll keep you covered!"

They both try to dart out from behind the building, but with not but a foot out, machinegun fire goes off, and they both duck back behind the building. Gritting his teeth, Hughes takes aim at the west guard tower, its light upon them, and he fires a few rounds at the searchlight, shattering it, the light going dark.

Taking his chance, Roy tears across the space from the building to the fence, and pulling the Swiss Officer's knife from his belt, he pulls out every little tool on the knife until he finds what he can only presume are the wire-cutters. They're so small, he's not sure if they'll even work! But with little time to think, he grabs hold of the wire fencing, and clasps the teeth of the little tool onto them.

He hears voices growing closer, more gunshots going off, and another searchlight going dark. Roy pulls back forcefully on the tough wire, and lo and behold it snaps! But that's just one wire! There are still so many more!

Working as quick as he can, Roy continues popping the wires, one after another, trying to make a hole just big enough to get through. He's almost there!

– when he feels a pistol right next to his head. Roy slowly turns his head to see who's there – Kimblee has snuck up on him. Even though the klaxons are still blazing, the siren sound drops from Roy's ears as he stares at the officer beside him.

With that same snakely slither coming from his voice, that sound that Roy has heard since day one with this man, Kimblee says, "Don't worry. I won't kill you. After all, I still need to find out where that weapon is." Kimblee grins from ear to ear, a strange crazed glint to his eye, "But you don't need you legs to talk. How 'bout a bullet right to the knee? I'll let you bleed out for a while, then the doctors will have to amputate it. You won't be running then!"

Kimblee aims the gun down at Roy's legs, but before he can fire, Hughes has snuck up on Kimblee and grabs him from behind, slipping his arms underneath Kimblee's and then locking his hands behind Kimblee's neck, leaving Kimblee's arms flailing in the air.

"Let me go!"

"Run, you idiot!" Hughes shouts at Roy, and wasting no more time, Roy pops one last wire, and slips through the fence. His clothes get caught, not but for a second, for Roy breaks free and takes off, scrambling through the trees and underbrush.

Kimblee continues to struggle against Hughes's grasp, "You traitor!" he screams at the top of his lungs. Kimblee bends his knees, using Hughes's own weight against him, and topples the sergeant over his shoulder. Kimblee makes a break for the fence, but Hughes grabs him by his ankle, the lieutenant falling into the dirt, his chin smacking against the hard dirt ground.

Hughes flips the lieutenant over, and, sitting on top of Kimblee, Hughes starts punching him right in the face, the lieutenant trying to do what he can to deflect the attack, but being smaller than the sergeant is having quite a time of it.

Much to Kimblee's relief, more guards show up, grabbing Hughes and lifting him to his feet, they also having to put up quite a struggle against this raging bull. One of the guards butts his rifle into Hughes gut, winding him as he bends in half, and then the soldier hits Hughes across the face with the butt of his rifle, slowing him down just enough for the other soldiers to get him to his knees.

Kimblee sits up, wiping his bleeding lip, spitting a bit of blood out of his mouth. "You treacherous snake!" He growls. "I should have expected as much from you!"

Kimblee rises to his feet, coming over to Hughes who is still on his knees, and kicks him right in the face, breaking the sergeant's glasses, glass shards cutting into his face and eye. Kimblee barks, "You make me sick!"

Hughes, a bit of blood trickling down his face, just smirks right back up at the lieutenant, "The feeling's mutual."

"Shut up! On his feet!"

The guards lift Hughes up, and Kimblee commands,

"Take him behind the shed!" As they drag Hughes away, Kimblee then turns to a free soldier and orders, "Round up a search party on the double! The prisoner is getting away!"

"Yes sir!" And the soldier runs off.

In the woods, Roy runs as fast as his legs will carry him, he heaving heavy breaths, hoping his lungs will hold out. He pushes tree branches out of his way, the leaves and pine needles brushing and scraping up against him, leaving sap and pollen and little whatnots about him.

He dare not look back. He fears that there are soldiers right behind him, right on his heels – but he dare not turn around to see. How many seconds would that waste? Seconds may be all that stand between him and freedom.

_I can make it!_ Roy tells himself! _I can make it! _He prays to God that the ferry does not have a wireless radio on board – otherwise the camp may signal them and hold the boat.

And then what? If that's the case, then what will he do?

_I'll keep running! _Roy tells himself. _I'll keep moving forward! I'LL KEEP MOVING FORWARD!_

Hughes stands with his back to the fence and his hands cuffed behind his back. He stares unwaveringly at the line of soldiers standing before him, they with the muzzles of their rifles trained upon him.

Kimblee stands off to the side, his normally calm, charming air replaced with a stone cold demeanor, his eyes burning with hatred as they sear through Hughes. Kimblee lifts his hand, "On my mark!"

Hughes lifts his eyes to the sky. _So, this is how I go out, huh?_ He wryly laughs inwardly. _At least my conscience is clean. _He closes his eyes, calmly smiling. _Bring on your sword. My heart is bare…_

Kimblee drops his hand, "FIRE!"

POW!

The sound thunders through the clear night air, and Roy stops running momentarily, turning around towards it. It sounds so far away, and yet still so close…

He hesitates for a moment… and then he turns back towards the river, running into the night.

Note from the Author: And now if you don't mind me, I'll be over in the corner grossly sobbing...


	13. The Strong One

"Do you see it, Brother?" Al asks.

He and Ed stand at the edge of the treeline, looking down the hill at the town below. "Yeah," Ed responds, shading his eyes from the sun overhead, "It looks like there's a camp just on the other side of this town."

"Do you think that's where Roy is?" Al ponders as Ed retreats back into the shade of the trees.

Ed sets down the bag he carries, a simple potato sack, and pulls out a book, an atlas given to him by Nina, "Let's hope so…" He opens up the book and looks at a map. Al comes over and looks over Ed's shoulder, watching as Ed traces a trail with his finger along the paper, "The fastest way to get there would be to just cut straight through town."

Al glances from the book to his brother, "Don't you think that's a little dangerous, Ed?"

Ed grumbles a little, more at himself than anything, "I know it'd be safer to go around, but we've taken so long getting here. Roy's counting on us. The sooner we get there, the better."

Al mulls this over in his mind for a moment, and then smiles, "Going through town's not that bad, I guess. We can use the chance to resupply. We are starting to run low."

Ed closes the book, putting it back in his bag, "Yeah, and with a third person joining us, we'll definitely need more."

Al stands back at the edge of the trees, looking out into the distance, his smile fading. "…Do you think he's all right?"

Ed joins him, both brothers looking out to the far away camp, "…I know he is…"

The Berlin office buzzes, secretaries at their typewriters pounding away at the keys, men drawing up plans tacked to cork boards, choreographed chaos working its way through the halls as people rush up and down to get their work done.

One worker in particular is straightening his tie, doing his best not to sweat as he approaches the door. He takes in a deep breath, and then calmly knocks.

"Come in," a voice from the other side calls.

The worker enters, carrying with him a small paper. "Lead Commander Himmler," the worker says, "This telegraph just came in for you."

Himmler, sitting behind his desk, calmly lays out his palm face up, and the worker places the paper in it. The commander adjusts his glasses, reading over the message. "Hmm," he chimes, "Spies posing as SS? Tsk, tsk. We can't have that, now can we?"

The worker stands at full attention, ready for action at a moment's notice, "What should you like done, sir?"

Himmler calmly folds up the telegraph and slips it into the inside pocket of his shirt, "Prepare a convoy. A score of men should do," he says as he rises from his desk and strolls casually, yet regally over to the window. "I will be going to this camp to see these spies for myself."

"Sir?"

Himmler glares out through the window looking over the city skyline, "My Schutzstaffel is an elite brigade. I will not tolerate anyone inferior who claims to be a part of it and dare besmirch its name. If there really are spies in my ranks, I want to see that they are taken care of – properly."

The worker gives a slight bow, "Of course, sir. I'll prepare an escort right away."

"You are dismissed."

And the worker quietly exits, leaving his commander staring imperiously out the window.

The soldiers stand at the base of the north guard tower, tirelessly wrapping new lengths of wire from one pole to the next, repairing the damage that has been done.

Some prisoners, yards away, watch as the soldiers work. "What do you think happened?" One prisoner asks the other.

"I dunno," the other responds. "From the sound of all those sirens last night, I'm guessing somebody broke out."

The one prisoner smiles, "That'd be great. Whoever it is can tell the rest of the world what's happening here."

The other prisoner sighs cynically, "Yeah, if they don't find him and shoot him first."

The one prisoner slumps his shoulders, but both of their thoughts are cut short as a nearby guard shouts, "Hey! Get back to work!"

Nearby this scene, Kimblee walks past, unnoticed. Normally he carries himself with such pride, and yet today something is off. He wrings his hands together, staring down at the ground, aimlessly wandering from one end of the camp to the other.

_I let him get away… I let him get away! _Kimblee thinks, his eyes trembling, _My one shot at finding that secret weapon – GONE, just like that!_

He grits his teeth.

_That damn Hughes! That traitor! This is his fault!_

Kimblee glances from side to side, eyeing his fellow soldiers who are all busy running the prisoners.

_How many?_ Kimblee questions. _How many of them are just like him? How many men here are traitors? How many are plotting behind my back?_

Without even thinking, Kimblee tugs down on the sides of his hat, as if trying to hide his head from sight. _They're all laughing at me! I know they are! Hughes told them all and now they all know!_

Kimblee passes by the Comm Office right as the communications officer steps out, "Oh, Lieutenant. Good morn-."

"Not now!" Kimblee screams at him, and keeps walking.

The comm officer is slightly shaken, "Jeez! What's his problem?"

"Lord, shoot me…" Commander Amsel says as he looks at the telegraph that the comm officer has brought him. "Lead Commander Himmler couldn't have picked a worse time to show up. A top prisoner having escaped? How am I supposed to explain that one?"

The comm officer asks, "When do you think he'll arrive, sir?"

"Depending on whether he's left already?" Amsel says as he steeples his fingers, facing the side wall but looking at his subordinate out of the corner of his eye, "By this afternoon at the latest. We need to get this place cleaned up and quick." He turns his chair and fully faces the comm officer, "See to it that we get some proper accommodations set up."

The officer salutes, "Yes sir."

Ed and Al sit inside a small café, enjoying the bit of warm food they can afford. Ed shovels a spoonful of potatoes into his mouth, watching his brother work, Al sitting with his bag on his lap and a needle and thread in hand.

"Your food's going to get cold," Ed tells him.

Al holds up his finished work, "Ta-da! Check it out!"

"So you sewed on straps, so what?"

Al slips his arms through the straps, "So now we can carry these on our backs. It'll keep our hands free."

Ed smirks, waving a free hand, "Yeah – I guess it will come in _handy_."

Al laughs, "Oh Ed… Huh?" Al notices something outside the window. "What's all that?"

Passing by are several large trucks, all in a row.

Ed quickly reaches over, grabbing Al by the shoulder, "Get down!"

They both duck down out of sight. Ed cautiously pokes his head just ever so slightly above the window sill as he peers outside.

"What is it, Ed?" Al asks.

"Those are military trucks," Ed tells him. "It looks like a convoy of some kind."

"Do you think they're headed for the camp?"

"I'm sure of it." Then he gasps, "Crap! They're headed this way!"

"What now?" Al asks, a little panicked.

Ed rises to his feet, dragging his brother with him, "Quick! Out the back door!"

Al grabs up Ed's bag and together they sprint through the small café, passing their waitress. "Hey!" she scorns, "You can't go that way!"

Al quickly pulls some money out of his pocket and shoves it into her hand, "Here's our bill! Sorry, gotta go!" And the boys take off.

"Hey! Ugh! Whatever…." The waitress sighs, returning to her duties.

Ed and Al make it into the back alley, the kitchen door closing behind them. They each heave a sigh.

"Great!" Ed says exasperated, "Moving around town is going to be a lot harder now, what with all these soldiers crawling around."

"Why do you think they're here?" Al wonders.

"Who knows," Ed responds. "Reinforcements probably. If the government is arresting as many people as Mr. Tucker and Jesska say they are, then the camps are probably full to busting."

Together, cautiously, the boys round the corner, heading back out towards the main street. "Do you think we'll find Nina's mother?" Al asks.

Ed pokes his head out from the alleyway, keeping a close eye on the soldiers parked outside the café. "That all depends," Ed responds to his brother's question, "on whether or not they've been separating the camps by sexes or not."

He hums in his throat, irritated.

"We can't exit this way. Too many soldiers." He looks over his shoulder at Alphonse, "You ready to do some climbing?"

Al is a little surprised, "What, are going to hop from roof to roof?"

Ed gives a smarmy grin, "Nah, we only need to get to another alley that has an outlet. If we're lucky, there's one just on the other side of this building."

Al can feel himself going a little blue in the face, "But still – what if we fall off the roof?"

Ed passes his brother as he re-enters the alleyway, patting Al on the shoulder, "Ah, don't be such a baby."

"I'm not being a baby!"

The guard atop the west tower scans the area below him, the vast expanse of trees stretching out and touching the edges of the nearby town.

Then something catches his ear – a shuffling sound – digging? But where is it coming from?

The guard gingerly leans over the side railing of his post and looks down to the ground. It's not on the outside of the fence. He makes his way to the other side and looks to the interior of the camp – Indeed, there is a soldier down there with a shovel in his hand, scooping dirt from a pile and refilling a hole.

"You there!" the guard shouts down, "What are you doing?"

The soldier looks up the tall tower, and the guard recognizes him.

"Lieutenant Kimblee, sir! I'm sorry, I didn't realize it was you," he apologizes. "But… May I ask, sir, what you're doing?"

Kimblee points off to his right, "This tower is weak, just like the north tower! All of the towers are weak points! We have to bulk up our defenses!"

"…By digging holes, sir?"

"Mind your own business!" The lieutenant bellows. "Get back to watching the perimeter!"

The guard salutes uneasily, "Uh, yes sir…." And he backs away, returning his attention to the forest beyond.

Kimblee shovels on the last bit of dirt from the pile back into the hole and pats it down for good measure. Then he reaches down and picks up a small crate that sits next to him, and taking both it and the shovel, he starts to walk towards the next tower.

Rick and Leo are at the bottom of the trench with several other prisoners, each man shoveling out dirt to deepen the hole. The shovel Rick has is far too big for him – it would be better suited to Leo's height. But oddly enough, Leo is digging with his hands.

"Hey!" The nearby guard questions, "Why are you digging with your hands? Where's your shovel?"

Rick holds up the tool in his hands, "Right here."

The guard looks at the little boy, "Then where's _your_ shovel?"

"Lieutenant Kimblee took my shovel, sir."

"What?" The guard grumbles, perplexed. "That's stupid! Why would…" but before he can finish his sentence, he sees the lieutenant walking along the fenceline, a shovel and a crate in his hands. "Uh…er…" He shouts back down at the boys, "Keep digging! I'll go find another shovel…"

Commander Amsel exits the soldiers' quarters followed by a secretary with a pencil and notepad in his hand, he scribbling down the orders his commander gives.

"Tell the cook to hold off on making that ham until the evening. We can skip the meat for lunch if it means saving some for the commander and his entourage."

"Yessir."

"And send someone into town to bring in a few good kegs of beer. The stuff we've got here stinks."

"Yessir."

"And for the love of God, did we ever get that vent installed on top of Building Five? The smell is building up something awful!"

"No sir; I'll double-check on the progress of that right away sir."

Amsel sighs, "And where the hell is Kimblee?" Amsel looks around and then says, "Ah! Speak of the Devil!" Passing by a few yards away is Kimblee and the commander calls to him, "Lieutenant!"

Kimblee flinches sharply, looking over, startled, but, realizing who it is, straightens himself up and walks towards the commander.

"Geeze, son," Amsel says to him, "You look like you're about ready to jump out of your skin."

"Forgive me, commander," Kimblee says, brushing some dirt off of his uniform, "Long night…"

"Well get yourself cleaned up; we're expecting company."

"Sir?"

Amsel looks at Kimblee with the utmost seriousness, "Lead Commander Himmler himself is coming here."

Kimblee gasps, his eyes going wide.

Amsel continues, "He's heard about the Trumbauer and Flagge situation, and he's said he intends to personally oversee the investigation."

Kimblee's heart is pounding in his ears, "Himmler? Here?! But Mustang!"

Amsel sets a hand on Kimblee's shoulder, "Don't worry – I'll take full responsibility for it. It is my camp after all. You did everything in your power, Lieutenant."

Kimblee looks down at the ground, "Thank you, sir."

"And as for that sergeant," Commander Amsel gives a, "Humph! You made the right call there. I'd have done the same thing myself. We've no room for his kind."

"Of course, sir…"

"Now then, as my second-in-command, I'm relying on you to help me get this camp into shape on the double. Everything must be perfect for the commander's arrival."

"Yes sir!" Kimblee bursts, not unlike a child, "Of course sir! I'll have everything ready immediately!"

"Very good," Amsel says, "Hop to it!"

"Yes sir!" And Kimblee speeds off.

People cluster around the town square, trying not to stare, but their curiosity still piqued by the gathering of soldiers.

A few of the trucks begin moving forward, leaving the others behind in the town square. And as they roll out, one more truck comes rolling in from the opposite direction, passing them by.

It comes to a stop in front of the beer hall, and a couple of soldiers hop out of the back of the vehicle, making their way up the steps of the hall.

Sitting on top of a flat roof, Ed and Al look down at the scene below. Ed leans back on his hand, one knee up and his other arm resting on top of that knee. Al lays flat on his stomach, his arms crossed and his chin laying on top of his forearms. He sighs.

"We should have stayed in the woods and gone around town…"

Ed says, "If I'd have known we'd have wasted this much time up here, we would have."

Al looks over at Ed, "Well we can't stay up here forever."

"Yeah, I know," Ed says as he crosses his legs, resting both arms on either knee. "But we can't storm the camp in broad daylight, either. We need to wait until nightfall."

Al again sighs and then rolls over onto his back, he looking back over at Ed. "We should get close to the camp _before_ nightfall, though. We'll need light to see by so we can scout the place."

"Yeah, good thinking," Ed says, finally rising to his feet. "We'll need to know where to get in and out of." He nudges Al with his foot, "You gonna lay there all day, or what?"

Al sits up, "How **do** we plan to get Roy out of there, Ed? It's not like we can just walk out the front door with him."

Ed crosses his arms, thinking. "…I guess it all really depends on the layout of the camp. I figure stealth is probably our best bet – quickly and quietly."

"And what if we get caught, or," Al's voice catches in his throat momentarily, he looking down at the ground, "Worse? Or what if we're already too late?"

"Hey," Ed says assuredly, "Don't think like that. This isn't our first time breaking-and-entering a place filled with soldiers. We'll do just fine."

Al still stares at the ground hesitantly, and Ed turns his attention out into the distance to the guard towers that rise above the tops of the pine trees.

The soldiers all stand in line on the parade ground, every man as straight as an arrow as the lieutenant strolls up and down their ranks, inspecting every single one of them from head to toe.

He points at one, "Polish those boots, soldier!"

"Yes sir!"

Kimblee points at another, "Straighten your helmet!"

"Yes, sir!"

The lieutenant keeps walking eyeing each soldier like hawk.

"Achoo!"

The lieutenant turns on the man, "Did you say something?!"

The soldier shies away, "Uh, I, just sneezed, sir…."

"Well keep it to yourself!" And Kimblee skulks along down the line, leaving the soldier befuddled.

And it goes on and on like this for the next several hours – anyone in Kimblee's path is sure to get his head bitten off.

In the kitchens, Kimblee holds up a plate, shoving it in the assistant cook's face. "Do you see this?! What is this?!"

The assistant holds up his hands defensively, "Uh, a spot, sir?"

Kimblee hollers, "Do you think Lead Commander Himmler wants to eat on dirty dishes?!" He winds his arm back and throws the plate against the wall.

The head cook furrows his brow, shouting, "Hey! Calm down!"

Kimblee points at him threateningly, "Don't you talk back to me! I'll have you discharged!" And he turns and storms out of the kitchens, shouting, "Clean that up!"

The head cook fumes, "What the heck has gotten into him?"

The assistant cook is shaking a little, whimpering, "I thought Kitchen Patrol was supposed to be easy!"

Crossing the grounds, Kimblee stops in front of one of the building projects: "Why isn't this barrack finished yet?!" he cries angrily.

The prisoners, tools in hand, stop working momentarily to look at the lieutenant. One of the guards keeping watch over them turns to Lieutenant Kimblee and says, "Sir, we only started it a few days ago. We're actually ahead of schedule-"

The guard yelps as Kimblee grabs him by the collar, "That's no excuse! I want this done before Lead Commander Himmler shows up!"

The guard quakes before him, "S-sir! That's impossible!"

Kimblee's voice grows quiet, he saying darkly, "You're working slow on purpose, aren't you?"

"S-sir?"

"You're trying to sabotage me. You're trying to make me look bad in front of the commander!"

"N-no, sir!"

Kimblee roughly shoves the soldier aside, roaring at the prisoners, "Get back to work, you filth!"

They all quickly turn away from him, returning to their duties, doing what they can to not catch his eye. Lucky for them, he doesn't stay long, but instead storms away.

_Idiots, all of them! _Kimblee thinks heatedly. _They don't know how to run a camp! That's how prisoners get away! Because they're all idiots!_

He stops, breathing heavily as he stares at the wire fence.

_These fences are weak. They're ALL weak! They need to be reinforced, ALL OF THEM!_

Kimblee breaks out into a run and heads for the tool shed. He rips open the doors and goes inside, grabbing a shovel, not even closing the door behind him as he leaves. He dashes over to the next building, the munitions depot, and hops up the stairs, pulling his keys from his belt and unlocking the door.

The trucks rumble up the long country road, pine trees passing them on either side. Himmler sits quietly, looking out the window. He then says to the driver, "It's magnificent, isn't it?"

"What is, sir?" the driver asks.

"The view. Look at it: all of these beautiful trees – pristine, unadulterated, pure."

The driver nonchalantly nods, "Yes, it is quite beautiful, sir."

"Did you know I started off as an agronomist?"

The driver shakes his head, continuing polite conversation but not really paying attention, "No, sir, I did not."

"It's amazing what one can learn from plants," the commander continues on matter-of-factly, "Plants are very stationary, though their seeds travel far and wide. Cross-breeding still happens, but not to the extent that we see in humans."

"Is that so?" the driver asks drearily.

"It's much easier in plants than it is in people to try to reproduce a good-old strain of crop, to breed out all of the inferior qualities and find that original, perfect form. It's the very foundation of genetics, you know. A monk, Gregor Mendel was his name, was trying to grow peas that were only green and not yellow."

The driver inwardly sighs and then asks, "Really?"

"Indeed," Himmler says smugly, "Little did that monk know that he was paving the way for our ambitious work. I suspect that within a hundred years time, the entire population of Germany will be of pure Teuton stock. We'll have bred out all the yellow peas and will be left only with the green."

"…That's… a beautiful metaphor, sir…"

The truck, followed by the handful of others, approaches the gates of the camp. The vehicle slows to a halt, the guards at the gate checking who's inside, and then they open the gates, allowing the trucks to enter the grounds.

The secretary rushes into Amsel's office, "Commander Amsel! He's here!"

Amsel quickly gets up from his desk, donning his cap and straightening his tie as he exits.

Outside, Amsel, escorted by his secretary, comes down the steps of the soldiers' barracks to see the line of trucks that have parked on the parade grounds. Stepping out of one of the vehicles is a thin man with thinning hair and a thinning moustache, with large round glasses perched on his nose.

Amsel walks up to the man and salutes him, "Lead Commander Himmler, it's a pleasure to meet you, sir."

Himmler gives him a courteous nod.

Amsel puts his hands at his side, "Commander Amsel, at your service."

With his nose slightly turned in the air, Himmler surveys the grounds, turning his gaze from one end of the camp to the other. "I must say, you have quite a lot of SA soldiers here in your camp. How odd."

"Sir?" Amsel asks.

Himmler says, "All of the other camps are solely run by SS. And you, an SS man yourself – why would you allow so many SA to be here? They're nothing more than a sports and training division these days."

Amsel says, rather a little uncertainly, "Well, I mean, it's just a prison camp. I figure it's easy training for them."

"I see," Himmler says with a bit of dissatisfaction in his voice, "So you trust your fate to inferior men?"

Amsel shakes his head, "No, sir, I just mean – well, the prisoners are even more inferior than them; it's not a difficult task for SA to handle. Better to give them an easy job than have them screw up on the front lines."

Himmler shrugs, "I suppose there is some logic in that."

Amsel motions his hand out towards the rest of the camp, "Well, Lead Commander, the suspects are right this way, in Solitary-"

"Just a moment," Himmler says as he puts up a hand for silence. "The suspects can wait. Since I'm already here in Emsland, I think it a good idea to give all of the camps a thorough inspection. After all, I'm the one who answers directly to the Fuhrer about these camps – I'd like to make sure that everything is running accordingly."

Amsel nods slightly, "Of course, sir. Please, after you."

Himmler walks past Amsel, and even though he is taller than the Lead Commander, Amsel still feels intimidated by his presence. He finally breathes after Himmler has passed by, and Amsel turns to his secretary, giving him a nod, and the secretary pulls out his notepad and pencil, following after both officers.

Himmler, flanked on either side by one of his own soldiers, strolls across the campgrounds, eyeing everything from the water barrel to trenches to the barracks.

The guard in charge of the latest building project glances over just in time to see who's coming, and he suddenly jolts to life, shouting, almost fearfully, at the prisoners, "It's Commander Himmler! Quick! Faster!"

The prisoners pick up the pace, hammering nails and sawing boards. Himmler comes to a halt in front of this project, the guard doing his best to keep his hand from trembling as he salutes.

Himmler looks the building up and down and then says to Amsel without turning towards him, "Why are all these prisoners mixed?"

"Sir?" Amsel questions.

Himmler flicks a hand at them, like swatting away a bug, "You've got black triangles working with blue triangles. The whole Reich is based upon _order_. Everything has a place, and here you are getting the most basic of things scrambled."

Amsel wrings his hands, "I'm sorry, sir. We'll fix it right away." He turns to the prisoners and shouts, "All right! Blue triangles! Get out of here! You're being reassigned!"

"That's more like it," Himmler says, strolling away.

Amsel sighs.

The guard asks, "But, sir, where are we reassigning them to?"

"Oh I don't know," Amsel groans, lifting his cap to briefly run his fingers through his hair, "Just put them someplace where they're not going to get in trouble…" And he trots off to catch up to the lead commander.

As Amsel does catch up to him, Himmler asks very quietly, "And how is Project Atlantis coming along?"

Amsel gulps though he tries not to show it, "_Swimmingly_, sir."

Himmler laughs and this relaxes Amsel a bit, "A sense of humor! I do enjoy that. I'd love to see our progress."

"Of course, sir. It's right this way, in Building Five."

Amsel leads Himmler and his bodyguards over to a large brick building. He pulls his keyring from his belt and unlocks the door, but before opening it, he looks over his shoulder and says, "You might want to hold your breath, though…"

Himmler looks at his guards and says, "Wait here."

"Yes sir!" they respond.

Amsel pulls open the door and cautiously enters, he himself pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, covering his mouth and nose. Himmler enters the building next, Amsel saying to him, "Leave the door open – no handle on the inside. We don't want the prisoners getting out after all."

The secretary is curious, wanting to look in through the open door, but the guards glare down at him with stone eyes, and he nervously backs away.

Inside Building Five, Himmler gazes at all that is around him, a grotesque sense of glee filling him. "Glorious. It's beautiful!"

Amsel coughs, the stench still bleeding through the cloth in his hand, but for some reason, Himmler seems unfazed by it all.

He stands with his hands spread, taking it all in. "How many?"

"So far?" Amsel responds, "About 500."

"EXACT numbers, man!"

Amsel stutters, fumbling through his memory, "Uhbd, uh… I think 513 was the last count."

"Good, good!" Himmler beams. "Excellent! Only 264 more to go! Are we expecting any more new arrivals?"

"Not until tomorrow, sir. But we do have some people already here who are next on the list."

"Good," Himmler commands, "Clear these ones out and get the next ones in. I'd love to see the machine at work."

Amsel feels his stomach jump and he resists a visible shudder, "Uh… Yes, sir…"

Kimblee pats down another pile of dirt, cackling to himself, "They won't get away. Not like Mustang!"

He tilts the small crate at his feet, looking into it.

"Empty. Need another box…"

Absently, he turns away from the fence, dragging his shovel behind him. He looks up and he sees a small group of soldiers standing outside Building Five. _Who are they? I don't recognize those men…_ He feels a bolt of lightning run through him, and he clasps tightly to his shovel. _Intruders! They're spies, aren't they! They're invading Building Five! And the commander's secretary! Even he's in on it!_

Kimblee swings the shovel over his head and charges towards the building! However, he stops yards away, dropping his shovel – for stepping out of the building is the Lead Commander!

The ringing clang of metal catches everyone's attention, and all of them, Himmler, Amsel, his secretary and the bodyguards, all look over to see Kimblee standing there, his legs tense but his arms limp.

As Amsel locks the door to the building, he notices Kimblee and questions, "Lieutenant? Are you all right?"

Kimblee, slowly, numbly, walks towards them, the guards rightly moving forward to deter him. Kimblee stares at Himmler and says, "It's you. It's really you!"

Himmler lifts his chin, leaning slightly towards Amsel, "Just who is this?"

Amsel answers, "Oh, this is my second-in-command, Lieutenant Zolf Kimblee, sir. You'll forgive him; he's just very excited to meet you."

"Sir!" Kimblee cries, "Please! Let me join the Schutzstaffel."

Himmler furrows his brow at him, "Beg pardon?"

"Please, sir!" Kimblee tries to push forward, but the bodyguards hold him back. "My blood is pure! I'm a true German! I believe in the cause! I'll _die _for the cause!"

Himmler sneers as he says, "Commander Amsel – you need to get your subordinates under control. This sort of boorish behavior is exactly why I don't approve of SA working in the camps."

"I don't approve either, sir!" Kimblee exclaims, "That's why I want to be SS! I'm better than all these brownshirts!"

"Lieutenant!" Amsel hisses, moving in and grabbing Kimblee by the shoulders. He says lowly but concerned, "Calm yourself."

Kimblee doesn't even hear his commander's voice, for he can't stop staring at the head of the SS. "I swear! I'll serve you loyally! I'll serve to the death!"

Himmler begins to walk past, saying, "While I approve of loyal soldiers, there is no room in the elite for someone like you." Himmler stares Kimblee straight in the eyes, "One drop of imperfect blood is enough to ruin a stock for generations to come. Why would I want someone with brown eyes to mingle with my blue-eyed soldiers?"

And Himmler starts to walk away. Kimblee is speechless, not but for a moment though, as he tries to run after the lead commander, Amsel holding him back by his wrist. "But sir!" Kimblee cries, "You don't have blue eyes!"

Himmler stops in his tracks. The soldiers silently gasp, and Amsel looks like he's about to have a heart attack.

Kimblee continues to cry, "You're the head of the SS! And you don't have blue eyes! I don't have blue eyes either! I'm just like you, sir!"

Himmler turns around, fiercely glaring at the lieutenant, Kimblee entirely unaware of the anger emanating from the lead commander.

"And-and you have dark hair! You're not blond! Neither am I!" He throws off his hat, pointing to the top of his head, showing off his dark roots, "See? See?! I'm just like you!"

Commander Amsel steps in front of Kimblee, pushing him backwards while looking over his shoulder: "Please, Commander Himmler, forgive him! He's had a tough week! He's malnourished; he doesn't know what he's saying!"

"I'm just like you, sir!" Kimblee continues to shout, "Let me join!"

"Enough!" Himmler orders, and finally, Kimblee falls silent, his eyes trembling. Himmler strides up to the lieutenant, the small bespectacled man's face growing red as he clenches his jaw. "How _dare_ you compare me to a worthless piece of trash such as yourself. _You_ are a brownshirt, and you will always _be_ a brownshirt. And nothing you say will change that!"

Himmler turns on his heel and storms away.

"Commander Amsel!" he calls.

Amsel still holds Kimblee by his shoulders, and he looks him in the eyes, saying quietly, "Son, what in the **hell** has gotten into you?"

Kimblee's voice shakes slightly, "I… I just…"

"You need to get some rest. Go on – you are relieved of your duties for the day."

"But-!"

"That's an _order_, Lieutenant."

And Amsel walks away, following after Himmler, leaving Kimblee standing by himself, alone.

"Hurry up!" the driver says as he leans out the window, "We've got to get back to camp!"

The truck still sits outside the beer hall in town, the rest of the convoy already firing up their engines. A skinny young soldier rolls a barrel of beer towards the back of the truck, and he says, "I could use a hand here!"

A fellow soldier in the back of the truck, a portly, slightly older fellow, chuckles with a smile, "Why? It looks like you've got it under control."

The younger soldier sets the barrel upright, "I'm not lifting this all by myself."

"All right, quit your whining," the portly soldier hops out of the truck and helps his friend lift the keg. With a heave, they set it inside, and then climb in after it. The portly soldier wipes his brow, "There, see? That wasn't hard."

The younger soldier chuckles, "Says the guy sweating."

In the front, another soldier climbs in the cabin, the driver asking him, "We got the beer, or what?"

"Yup," the soldier nods. "Ready to go."

The driver fires up his truck as the rest of the trucks pass, he waiting for a clear opening to pull the vehicle out, and then he taps on the gas and follows in behind the convoy.

A few minutes pass and the town starts to grow smaller in the distance, eventually becoming obscured behind the trees. The sun is falling now, starting to paint the woods in an orange hue.

The young soldier pokes one of the barrels in front of him, "Who bets we don't see any of this beer? All the officers are going to get to drink it and we won't see a drop."

The portly soldier knocks a barrel on its top, "They don't know how many kegs we picked up. Who says we can't slip a drink?"

"And get in trouble?!" The younger one sputters.

The fat one grins, "They won't know."

"They'll smell it on us!"

"Ah, don't be such a wimp."

"Well, maybe just a little drink-."

A few more minutes pass, and both men have already downed a cup's worth of alcohol a piece.

The fat one sighs, content, "That's what I'm talking about! Better than that bilge water they been giving us at camp."

"Yeah," the younger one smiles, "Tell me about it-"

The back of the truck bounces up and down momentarily. Both soldiers look out the back, wondering if maybe they'd rolled over a bump – but instead are greeted by two young blond men, civilians! One of the two smiles with a wide smarmy grin, "Don't mind us, fellas! Just hopping in for a drink!"

"Hey!" The fat one shouts, "What are you-WHOA!" The next thing he knows, he's being grabbed by the shirt collar. He gets punched in the face and knocked out, literally knocked right out of the truck!

"Hey!" The younger one cries, "Stop!" And he too gets punched, tumbling out the back and landing flat on the road.

Al pokes his head out of the back of the truck, looking at the unconscious soldiers. "Ed!" he says, "Why'd you throw them out? We could have stolen their uniforms."

"Too late for that now," Ed says, rotating his arm to loosen his shoulder. "And keep it down; we don't want the driver to hear us."

The sun has set on the camp, and finally, the second half of Himmler's convoy rolls up to the gates. As the trucks roll to a stop on the parade grounds, Ed and Al quickly slip out the back, running for the nearest building they can find.

The driver of the truck heads to the back to help the other soldiers cart out the kegs, but upon arriving, he pokes his head in, curious. He looks back out to the fellow soldier that was riding up front with him and asks, "Hey, where are Bader and Hass? I thought you said they were in here?"

The other soldier also pokes his head in the back, "Huh. I could have sworn they were." He grins and gently whacks his friend in the arm, "Who bets they're still back at the beer hall getting wasted?"

The driver groans, "Well I'm not taking the fall for their stupidity. If that's the case, that's on _them_ for not getting in when I said so…"

Ed and Al crouch quietly in the shadow of the building, waiting for the soldiers to clear the grounds. As the soldiers roll the barrels away to the mess hall, Al whispers, "Where should we look first?"

Ed looks around from side to side, "I don't see any prisoners around here. They may already be locked up in their cells or wherever it is their being kept…"

Al also looks around to make sure no one is coming, "So all we've got to do is figure out which buildings have prisoners and which buildings have soldiers."

"Yeah," Ed says, "And stay out of the latter of the two."

And one of the latter of those two is of course the Solitary Confinement building, whereupon Himmler has finally come to see the supposed spies. As he and Amsel walk towards the building, Himmler asks, "Remind me – this _is _the camp where Roy Mustang of the Freemasons is being held, correct?"

Amsel clears his throat, "Uh, about that, sir. Roy Mustang escaped, last night."

Himmler stops walking, pinching the bridge of his nose as he slowly takes in a breath. He lets out a long sigh. "I see. This only further increases my disdain for your staff." He removes his hand out from under his glasses. "I want a full overhaul of this place. No more SA men. Full SS staff, as soon as possible."

Amsel nods humbly, "Of course, sir. I'll make the proper arrangements."

"Still," Himmler says as he resumes walking towards the building, "I suppose I shouldn't put it past a prisoner for trying to escape. It is in the nature of German blood to resist, after all." He gives a wry chuckle, "It only proves how worthy of an adversary he is. Unlike the rest of these non-Germans filling the camp – the gypsies, the Jews, the other miscellaneous rabble – Mustang has proven his German blood in resisting."

Amsel is busy unlocking the door, not sure how to respond. He's afraid no matter what he says, it may be the wrong thing to say. Still, he manages, "Well, he was a strong-headed one, that one."

"Ah," Himmler chimes, "But he is not _the_ Strong One," he says as he enters the building.

"The Strong One, sir?" Amsel asks as he enters after the lead commander.

Himmler goes off into a voice not unlike a poet narrating for a crowded theatre – " 'The Strong One from above ends the faction. He settles everything with fair decisions. Whatever he ordains shall live forever.' "

"Uh, that's very lovely, sir. Did you write that yourself?"

"It is an ancient Aryan prophecy," Himmler says, glancing briefly over his shoulder as he and Amsel walk down the long, dark hallway. "It tells of how arises a man, like a phoenix from the ashes of dismay, to lead the Master Race into the new age of prosperity!" He looks over at Amsel with a knowing glint in his eye, "One need only look at the Fuhrer to see the fiery passion within him. Truly, he is a gift from the Gods."

Amsel this time does not clear his throat, lest he sound rude, "Of course, sir." Amsel thinks to himself, _I wonder if Commander Himmler is always like this…_

Finally they reach the end of the hall. Amsel unlocks the door on the left.

"After you, sir."

"Thank you," and Himmler steps inside.

Asleep on the floor is Trumbauer, snoring away. Himmler looks down at him, a little disdainfully. He pulls a pen from his front pocket and proceeds to tap noisily on the bars, the sudden sound stirring Trumbauer awake.

"Whatwhowha?!" Trumbauer looks up and sees who it is, and immediately, he hops to his feet, saluting, "Lead Commander Himmler, sir! Whoo," And he stumbles backwards against the wall, slowly sliding down.

"Stood up too fast, did we?" Himmler asks.

Trumbauer props himself back up, slowly standing himself back upright, "No, sir, just… Stunned, in your presence."

"Charmed," Himmler replies dryly. "What is your name, soldier?"

He salutes, "Trumbauer, sir!"

Hand to chin, Himmler nods, "Yes, yes, you do look familiar. And your comrade is named?"

"Flagge, sir."

"And you were sent here to?"

"Interrogate the prisoner Roy Mustang, sir!"

"In order to?"

"Find out where the uranium bomb is, sir?"

Amsel asks, "The what now?"

Himmler waves a hand, "You will forget everything you've heard here."

Amsel once more nods humbly, "Of course, sir."

Himmler continues, "And what have you learned from him?"

Trumbauer is quiet for a minute, the edge of his mouth twitching momentarily. And then he says, "Forgive me, sir. That Mustang is a tough one to crack."

"So you haven't learned anything, then?"

"Oh I've learned something alright!" Trumbauer's demeanor changes from looking respectfully at Himmler to looking rather impertinently at Amsel, "There's a rat in your ranks!"

Amsel nods, "He's been dealt with."

"Good! I never liked that Kimblee anyway!"

"Wait, Kimblee?" Amsel queries. "What are you talking about?"

"He's the reason we got thrown in here!"

Amsel steams, "Do you have any proof to these allegations?"

"Well, no. But I **know** he was behind this!"

Himmler, rather calmly, insists, "That's quite enough."

Trumbauer calms down, tough audibly he grumbles in his throat.

Himmler says with a shrewd look on his face, "Now then, I'm going to ask you a few more questions – things only a _real_ SS soldier would know. We'll see whether you are who you say you are…"

Ed and Al quietly sneak across the camp, the chirping of crickets covering the sounds of their footsteps as they walk lightly across the grounds.

They stop with their backs flat against a wall, a searchlight passing over their heads momentarily. And then the light begins to fade as it continues along its way.

Al sees something and taps his brother. Then he points – Across from them is another barrack, but more importantly there is a small window there, high up. Ed looks from side to side to make sure the coast is clear. And then he nods and he and Al dash over there, once more laying their backs flat against the wall to hide themselves in the shadows.

Ricks lays on the cot that once belonged to Roy. He heaves a sad sigh, missing his friend. The boy rolls over onto his stomach, looking out the window to the night sky. _I wonder if he's all right…_

When suddenly a face pops up in the window!

"Ahh!" Rick moves away, startled.

The man at the window puts a finger to his mouth, going, "Shh!" Then he asks, "Hey, are you a prisoner?"

"Uh," Rick stutters for a moment, "Yeah…"

Rick hears another voice below the window: "Ed! Hold still! You're hurting my shoulders!"

The man at the window tells Rick, "All right, don't worry, just stay there!" And he disappears from sight.

Rick scurries to the end of the bed, peeking out the window to see where the mysterious stranger has disappeared to.

Prisoners begin to stir in their cots, as from outside the front door they hear a scuffling, followed by a loud, **THUD!**

"Huh?"

"What was that?" they ask.

Outside, Ed and Al set the soldier they've knocked out onto the ground, and they push him underneath the barrack.

"All right, come on!" Ed whispers to his brother, Al pulling the keys from the soldier's belt.

Inside the barracks, everyone is looking at the door as they hear the rattle of keys and the turning of tumblers. The door swings open and in come two men, closing the door behind them.

"Who's that?" a prisoner asks.

"They're not guards," another adds.

Ricks runs up to them, Leo following. Ed and Al are both surprised at the sight of them, recognizing these faces from their home world – but like so many times before, the boys remind themselves that these people are not the same people.

Rick looks up at Ed and asks, "Who are you guys?"

Ed looks around at everyone in the room, and he says, "We're looking for a guy named Roy Mustang."

Murmuring arises from the room, Rick's face lighting up: "You're friends of Mister Mustang's?!"

Al smiles back, "So he is here!"

Leo looks back at Al grimly, "Let's hope so. The last time we saw him, they shoved him Solitary Confinement. For all we know, they may have taken him into Building Five since then."

Rick whips around to his brother, "Don't say a thing like that! I know Mister Mustang is all right!"

"Building Five-," Ed questions, "What's that?"

Leo looks down at the ground, "It's a bad place. People go in there, and they never come back out. And then the morning after people go in there, the trenches that we've spent the week digging are suddenly filled back in. And we all know why…"

Rick grabs Alphonse by the arm, looking up at him with pleading eyes, "Please! You have to get us out of here!"

Al feels the strings of his heart being tugged at as this little boy stares up at him with tears in his eyes. Al looks over at his brother, and Ed, realizing what Al is thinking, says scornfully, "Al…"

"We can't leave them in here, Ed!" Al says with that same determination in his eyes that Edward has seen before. "Look around you! These people need our help!"

"I understand that! But it's not exactly stealth if we break out a hundred people all at once!"

The murmuring arises from the crowd once more, Rick now pleading with Ed, "Please! Please don't leave us in here!"

Al says, "It might actually be better than stealth!"

Ed crosses his arms, "How so?"

"In all the confusion, we can slip out unnoticed! There's no way the guards can stop _all _of us!"

"Yeah!" some in the crowd add.

Ed waves his hands, whispering harshly, "All right! Keep it down! You want the guards to hear?" He looks down at Leo. "Just how many people are in this camp anyway?"

"I don't know," Leo tells him, "A lot. There's easily 80 people in this barrack alone – and there are six barracks in total."

Ed nods, "So nearly 500 people then. That's an awful lot."

"Exactly!" Al says excitedly, "And I'm sure there aren't 500 guards!"

Rick shakes his head, also excited, "There's not! There's maybe forty, fifty at most!"

"All right, fine!" Ed says, coming in closer to the group, everyone listening intently, "Here's what we do: Al, you've got the keys. You go from barrack to barrack unlocking the doors. I'll head for Solitary and bust out Roy. We'll reconvene here and when we're ready, we all burst out at once."

Al asks, "How will people in the other barracks know?"

"Tell them to wait for a signal – make something up. A whistle, maybe." Ed turns his attention to the prisoners, "Everyone **stay in here** until you hear the signal. If you leave before the signal is given, you're putting **everyone** in danger, do you understand?"

A sea of nodding heads greets him.

Al looks at Leo and Rick and he says, "I'm going to need a couple of runners to help me spread the word." He smiles resolutely at them, "Think you boys can handle it?"

They both nod, a fire in their eyes.

"All right," Ed says, "Quietly now…"

They exit the building, quietly making their way down the steps. Ed turns to the boys and whispers, asking, "Which way is Solitary?"

Leo points to the southern end of the camp: "That way, past the flag pole, the first brick building on the left."

Ed gives a thumbs up, "Thanks." He looks at Al, "Be safe."

Al nods, "You too."

And Ed speeds off into the darkness, Al and the boys taking off in the opposite direction.

Kimblee is in his room, pacing back and forth like a caged animal, his hands on the side of his head as he stares down at the floor.

_He doesn't think I can do it anymore_, Kimblee worries. _Commander Amsel doesn't think I can keep it together! This is all Trumbauer and Flagge's fault! They came into this camp and stole my power right out from under me! The commander trusts THEM more than he trust me!_

He kicks his nightstand, everything on top of it shaking and falling over.

"He can't do this to me! HE CAN'T DO THIS TO ME! I'll show him! I'LL SHOW ALL OF THEM! I'm the only one looking out for the good of this camp!"

Kimblee rips open his door and takes off down the hallway.

Ed runs past the flag pole, and quickly he has to dart behind the brick building, for the door is opening. Quietly, he slides his way to the edge of the wall, peering around the corner.

Exiting the building are two men, a tall chubby one, and a short thin one. The tall one asks, "Well sir?"

The thin responds, with a bored air, "They do both _appear_ to be SS; but it is better to err on the safe side. We'll release them when their records arrive from Berlin."

"Of course, sir," the tall one says as he locks the door.

_Damn it! _Edward thinks to himself. _Now I've got to get those keys off him…_

"Still, it is a shame," The thin one says as they both begin to walk away, "That Mustang got away…"

Ed gasps. _He got away?_

"You have no idea how long it took us to track him down in the first place."

"Again, I apologize, sir…"

Ed's heart is leaping. _Roy got out! He got free! _But just as quickly as his spirits lift do they plummet again. _I've got to get back to Al! We've got to get out of here before it's too late!_

Ed starts to dash off, but immediately runs into someone! He backs up, cursing inwardly, for he knows the jig is up! The soldier stares back at Ed, and for a moment, Ed thinks he recognizes the face before him – but he doesn't know this blond man.

One scream from the soldier's mouth and Ed recognizes his voice instantly: "Intruders!" the soldier cries.

"Kimblee?!" Ed blurts, surprised, but he doesn't have much time to think for the Kimblee doppelganger is swinging a shovel at him.

Kimblee continues to cry, "Intruders! Sound the alarm! We're under attack!"

The searchlights begin swiveling insanely, trying to find the source of the screaming. Ed grabs a hold of the shovel and pulls Kimblee close fast, head-butting him and knocking him out flat. A searchlight lands on top of him!

"Halt!" he hears, and the sounds of sirens begin to cut through the night air.

Ed dashes off into the darkness, the light following at his heels, the sounds of soldiers' footsteps coming up from behind.

Outside one of the barracks, Al, Rick and Leo all look up to the siren atop the center pole in the camp.

"Oh no!" Rick cries.

Al shouts, "Give the signal! I'll unlock the rest of the barracks!"

Leo sticks two fingers in his mouth, and with all his might, blows a shrill whistle. Three of the six barrack doors burst open wide, and a flood of prisoners pours out of them, the people scattering in all directions! Al runs to the next nearest barrack, unlocking its door, he flinging it open and yelling, "Everyone out! Now!"

The searchlights continue their swiveling, trying to take in the entire sight at once.

"What the hell is going on down there?!" One guard atop the tower cries to his partner. The partner doesn't answer, but instead aims his machinegun down at the ground below and opens fire!

Men begin falling down as red liquid bursts from their chests, others running over the fallen bodies to get to the fenceline.

Soldiers rush out of the mess hall, while others are arriving out of the quarters, still in their night clothes. "Halt!" some shout, opening fire. Others don't get a chance to fire as they are swarmed upon by the angry mob of prisoners, their handguns and rifles being ripped from their hands and used against them.

The gunfire rings out through the night air, just barely muffled by the wailing of the siren. Ed runs along the northern fenceline, just barely covered by the buildings and hidden by the shadows. But the line of buildings comes to an end and suddenly he's caught under the glare of a spotlight!

He jumps back as quick as he can, right as a line of bullets cuts through the ground all the way up to the fence. The guard manning the machinegun atop the tower continues to fire in the direction of the intruder, firing at the building itself, hoping to cut through the bricking and hurt the man on the other side.

Ed has his body pressed tight against the wall, waiting for the firing to stop, just for a chance to run towards the front gates. He hears a piercing ring of metal on metal, and hears someone shout, "Stop, you idiot! The commander will be pissed if you destroy that building!"

Ed quickly peeks out from behind the building, and sees that the lock has been shot off, the door now loosely hanging open. Now covered by the door, Ed dashes to the opening and ducks inside. _Okay, I'll just lie low here for a little bit. I need to get a plan together and…_

And all of his thought processes come to a screeching halt.

…_What is this?_

Lining the walls, stacked four high and four deep, are bodies – shriveled, dried up bodies, like mummies, every ounce of liquid sucked from them. They hang, vertically, suspended in a strange contraption – strapped against steel plates, IV tubes pierced into their arms and legs and even their necks, the tubes leading down the length of the building, ultimately plugged into a giant glass tank that is filled near to the brim with a deep red liquid.

Edward stares at the tank before him. He's seen this before… Numbly, he approaches it, his curiosity, nay, his disbelief at what he's seeing overtaking him. He places a hand on the glass. "Red liquid… this is…"

"Blood," he hears a voice say, and Edward whips around, assuming a fighting stance.

Standing at the entryway is the short thin man he saw before. The officer strolls into the room, rather casually and continues:

"Human blood, to be precise."

"Who the hell are you?" Edward asks, then shouting, "And what the hell is going on here?!"

The man chuckles, "It would seem you've stumbled onto my little project. Do you know where the Jews came from?"

Edward keeps his fists up, ready to fight should the man come too close. "You didn't answer my question."

"Oh, how rude of me." The man politely bows his head though never takes his eyes off of the intruder. "Heinrich Himmler, Reichsfuhrer of the SS and reincarnation of King Wilhelm I."

Ed scoffs, "That's a fancy title you got there. You come up with that one all by yourself?"

"I answered your question; it would only be polite for you to answer mine. Do you know where the Jews came from, I said?"

"I don't see what that has to do with all of this."

Himmler smiles as he traces his hand up one the IV lines. "Why it has _everything_ to do with this, my dear boy." With a strange glint in his eye, he glances over at Edward. "Very few people realize that the Jews were one of the subraces of Atlantis."

Ed's fists drop slightly, betraying his confusion.

Himmler continues, "You are familiar with Atlantis, aren't you? The great kingdom that sank into the sea, disappearing overnight? Of course I don't expect you to be _completely_ familiar with all of the tales of our world."

Edward brings his fists back up, Himmler chuckling at his reaction.

"Because you _are_ from a different world, aren't you – Edward Elric."

Ed himself gives a sardonic laugh, though his pupils tremble a little, "You're one of those Thule Society nuts, aren't you?"

"Oh on the contrary – Thule Society, yes; 'nuts', as you say, no. I would only be crazy if what I said weren't true. I hear tale that you popped out of a portal, right out of the center of the earth as it were."

Ed snaps back, "I'll have you know I fell out of the ceiling! And let me tell you – plane crashes aren't much fun!"

Himmler chuckles, "Details." He motions his hand from one side of the room to other, "What do you think of my little project here? Beautiful, isn't it?"

"It's disgusting!" Edward bellows at him. "Why are you harvesting these people's blood? What do you have to gain from it?!"

Himmler clicks his tongue. "So short-sighted. I thought you of all people would understand."

"Understand what?!"

Himmler tilts his head down slightly, looking at Ed over the rim of his glasses as he says darkly, "Why, the raw ingredients for a Stone, of course."

Ed feels his heart freeze in his chest. "…You don't mean a-"

"A Philosopher's Stone, yes. It is thought that the Atlanteans had a 'Great Crystal' –a stone of some sort that gave them magic powers, powers that allowed them to rule over the entire earth. The Jews were one of the many races that lived upon the Atlantean continent, and after the Deluge, the writings of King Solomon kept the secret knowledge alive. But you know all of this, don't you, Freemason? You and your Illuminati brothers, worshiping your forbidden Diamond."

"You're crazy!" Edward shouts. "Alchemy doesn't work on this side of the Gate! All you're doing is slaughtering people for no reason!"

Himmler tilts his head to the side, sounding like an exasperated schoolteacher trying to teach a dense pupil, "It's not entirely unfounded. Think about it – Matter is nothing more than compressed Energy. The ancient word for Matter is Body, and the ancient word for Energy is Spirit. If you compress pure Spirit, you get Body. And what is the most potent form of Spirit in physical form?"

He points abruptly at the tank behind Ed.

"BLOOD! **Blood** is the very essence of the soul; it is the prime material of all life!" The officer continues rambling, "With enough heat and pressure, you can compress minerals into diamonds! And with enough heat and pressure, one can compress pure human blood into the most potent crystal of all! Imagine! Seven-hundred and seventy-seven souls at your command! Pure soul energy in crystallized form, conglomerated hearts, like the Kingdom of Heaven in the palm of your hand!"

Ed glowers at him grimly, "Trust me – I know a lot more about this than you know."

"Then you understand the genius of it!" Himmler beams, the pitch of his voice starting to kilter, swaying between high and low, "The Atlanteans held colonies all over the world! They ruled the four corners of the globe! And now their descendents are providing for the new Master Race!"

Ed glances over at a line of bodies. One in particular catches his eye, making him gasp: A woman, the pinkie and ring finger of her right hand gone, replaced instead with clockwork mechanics. Ed turns his attention back to Himmler, lowly asking, "Their descendents…?"

Himmler breaks out in a cackle, "Yes! Every man, woman, and child in here is a Jew! These pre-Aryans, they have no right to live. But neither shall their deaths be in vain! Their blood shall provide a great source of power for their successors. Empires are _built_ on blood, after all."

Ed's eyes continue to drift across the room, taking in the death before him, "You're sick," he says, "You built all of this – these camps, these death machines – just to chase after a fantasy?"

Himmler hums, "The Final Solution is no fantasy. We _will _exterminate all of the Jews, and the Aryans _will _rule over the earth as the Master Race, just as the Atlanteans before them. It is our destiny!"

Edward takes a step backwards, slowly making his way closer to the tank. "So, you're in the Thule Society, you say? Tell me – did they ever tell you anything special about my right arm?"

Himmler cocks his head to the side, raising an eyebrow. "I don't believe so. Why?"

"Because THIS!" Like a shot, Ed winds back his right arm, and with a mighty crash, he punches through the tank, glass shattering out in all directions, coagulated blood plopping out and spilling everywhere!

"No!" Himmler cries! "My blood! My beautiful blood!"

Ed runs past him, the officer too distracted by the liquid pouring out onto all corners of the ground. Himmler drops to his knees, vainly trying to scoop it back into the tank, screaming,

"You've ruined it! You've filthied it!"

Ed runs out the front door, being swept up in a tide of prisoners all running every which way. He cups his hands, shouting over the madness, "Al! Al, where are you?!"

A large crowd of prisoners is gathered at the front gate, pushing with all their might against the bars, trying to force them open. Gunshots ring through the night air, people, prisoner and soldier alike, falling at their bite.

"Al!" Ed continues to shout, pushing his way through the crowd. He spies the flag pole. _It's crazy, _he tells himself, _But if I can get up there, maybe I can see through the crowd and find him!_

Finally breaking free of the crowd, Ed makes it into the clearing near the flag pole. But as he reaches it, he hears a shaky, breathy cackling. He looks over, and he sees standing there the blond Kimblee, blood crusting the forehead of the soldier's face, and a large, manic grin stretching from cheek to cheek.

"You're him, aren't you?" Kimblee laughs. "You're the one they've been searching for – Elric, isn't it?"

Ed starts to back away slowly from the crazed man who begins to encroach upon him.

"After all this time," Kimblee's shoulders shudder as he intermittently laughs, "After all the time I spent plotting to squeeze the information out of Mustang – you show up right on my doorstep! Lucky me…"

"Listen Kimblee!" Ed shouts at him, throwing introductions and explanations to the wind, "I don't have time for this! Just stay out of my way!"

Kimblee's chest rises and falls rapidly, his eyes bulging as he giggles insanely. He holds something up in his hand, "Oh. You're not going to get away, not like Mustang. I won't let you! I'll take down this whole camp if it means stopping you!"

"What is that?" Edward asks.

Kimblee laughs, "Ingenious little device, isn't it? I made it myself! It's powered by radio waves. Most bombs require detonator line and a plunger, but not this baby!"

Ed's eyes go wide, "A bomb?"

Kimblee shouts at the top of his lungs, "Not just **_A_** bomb! This WHOLE CAMP is rigged to blow! One push and **BOOM!** WE ALL GO SKY HIGH!"

Ed cries, "Wait! You don't have to do this!"

"Of course I do!" Kimblee says happily, "You're a threat to the Reich! All opposition must be stamped into the ground! And I'm ready to go out in a blaze of glory! Solidarity to the cause and a commitment unto death!"

"No!"

But too late! Kimblee pushes his thumb down on the button, a suddenly one of the far guard towers explodes into a fiery column! And a section of fence nearest to it! And then the section after that and the guard tower after that!

Kimblee has his arms spread to either side, laughing to the sky as the explosions come closer and closer!

Ed turns and runs, wasting no more time! He hears men crying as the explosions tear through the camp, unsure if they are soldiers or prisoners, but does it matter? They're all going to die if they don't get out of here and now! But he stops, turning around back to the interior of the camp.

_But Al! Where's Al?!_

Meanwhile, Himmler is exiting Building Five, frantically looking around. "What's going on?! What's all thatAHH!" The fence off to his right explodes and he is thrown violently through the air, he landing roughly on the ground.

Stunned, the world spins in fiery colors around the officer's head. He opens his eyes, seeing the stars above him swirling. All sound has been muffled say for a high-pitched ringing shrieking through his ears and the thumping heartbeat pounding in his skull. Himmler slowly, shakily, tries to lift himself up, only managing to get up onto his elbows. He tries to reorient himself, trying to get a bearing of his surroundings-

When he sees him.

Standing in the middle of the fires, starkly silhouetted against the raging inferno is Elric, his coat billowing in the upsweeping heat and smoke that rises to the sky. The fires burn across the buildings and barracks, and as a pole from one of the guard towers topples down, the flames shoot up higher, lapping the heavens. And Himmler swears that in that moment, the flames were wings, stretching out from Elric's back.

"A… phoenix…" Himmler mumbles, and suddenly he recalls what Edward had said, that he did not rise from the center of the earth, but instead fell from the ceiling. "…The Strong One… from above…"

Another explosion, and Elric disappears from sight.

Commander Amsel is scrambling across the grounds when he sees Himmler laying there. "Commander!" he shouts, running up to the fallen leader. "Commander! Are you all right?!"

Amsel lifts Himmler to his feet, Himmler absently responding, "Yes… Right…"

"Come on, sir! We've got to get out of here!" Amsel looks over his shoulder, "There! That fence is down! Come on! Into the woods!"

Amsel and Himmler begin running away as yet another explosion goes off behind them.

Ed holds up his arms to shelter his face from the fires.

"Ed!" He hears Al cry, and he looks up. Al is inside a truck, the door flung open. "Get in!"

Ed runs to the open vehicle, jumping inside, and Al revs the motor and the boys speed off. Al shouts, "Tell me you got Roy out!"

"Didn't have to!" Ed shouts, clinging onto the door handle for dear life as the truck bounces over the uneven dirt path. "He got himself out!"

The gates of the camp have been opened, and prisoners and soldiers alike are running off into the woods, running away from the chaos of the fires that rage against the blackened sky. Al swerves through the open gate, rounds the corner, heading northward along the country road.

He doesn't let up on the gas, even though as he looks in the side mirror, he sees that there is no one following them.

"Al! Look out!" Ed yells.

Al finally does let up on the gas, easing off to the right before the truck should land in the river they've come upon. Gently, he taps on the brake, slowing the vehicle to a crawl. He and Ed look out the windshield at the orange glow the pulses unevenly from behind the treetops.

"…Roy got out?" Al asks quietly.

Ed replies, wearily, "Yeah. Yesterday. He escaped before we ever got here."

Al gives a short laugh, his gaze distant. "Still – we did good coming here… We got all those prisoners out…"

"Yeah," Ed says downheartedly, "But how many of them got killed because we tried to get them out?"

Al gently lays a mild punch on his brother's arm, though hitting his metal arm doesn't faze him at all. "Oh, Ed. Can't you for once look on the bright side?"

Ed smiles a little, "…Yeah, you're right. We did put quite a dent in a bigger problem. Let's hope it helps…"

"So where do you think Roy's gone?" Al asks.

Finally, having carried it this whole time, Ed slips the bag off of his back and once more pulls out the atlas. "The border's not that far away. What do you say, Al? You want to take a trip to the Netherlands?"

Al smiles resolutely and nods, "Sounds good to me."

He fires up the truck, and together, the brothers drive away into the darkness of the night, knowing that soon the sun will be dawning on a brand new, brighter day.

**FULLMETAL AFTER WILL RETURN ON OCT. 3RD!**

That's right, boys and girls! FMAfter is going on a short hiatus. But don't worry! We'll be back with all new adventures - where is Roy? Who will Ed and Al meet in the Netherlands? Is that America I see on the horizon? What grand adventures await? STAY TUNED!

Until then, why not keep yourself entertained by watching the opening credits? (Yes, I animated an opening credit sequence to my fanfiction. I am that crazy dedicated to the cause).

Add the following after the standard YouTube address: /watch?v=2t0pTZ5wksE


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